


Wings on the Battlefield

by Tamuril2



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU Winglock, Gen, Wing!lock, Wingfic, Winglock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-13 01:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 26,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5689300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tamuril2/pseuds/Tamuril2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John didn't think that his tour of Afghanistan would be quite THIS exciting. But then, he didn't think people with wings existed either. Winglock. No slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alleyway Meeting

The trembling man in front of John didn’t seem like the stuff of nightmares. Oh, he was imposing, to be sure, but not terrifying. More offsetting, if anything. And he certainly didn’t seem like he wanted to drink his blood or tear him limb from limb as John’s comrades had said. Well…his claws _were_ digging into his collarbone– enough so that John could feel blood running down his shoulder slowly – and there _was_ a knife being held at his throat – that too was drawing a bit of blood – but the look in Unsub 052’s eyes didn’t reflect a malicious desire to kill. More like a frantic wish to live.

The poor guy looked ready to cut and run. He kept leaning in, as if to finish the job and slit John’s throat wide, and then pulling back a bit with a hesitant tenseness in his shoulders. He eyes darted from John to the dark buildings around them at a rapid pace. Too thin, scared stiff, and smelling suspiciously as if he hadn’t washed in weeks, maybe months, this man seemed as far off from the monster the army had described as possible. John shallowed his breathing, no need to push any harder against that knife, and took a chance.

“Hey,” he whispered.

The winged man flinched at the word and gave a feral growl, the knife digging in a little deeper.

John didn’t let that deter him. He relaxed his muscles and tried to make himself appear as non-hostile as he could. Given that he had no gun anymore – that was crushed somewhere behind him – and had close to two hundred pounds kneeling on his stomach, it wasn’t that hard. Still, it couldn’t hurt to give some extra credence to his demeanor.

“I didn’t mean to scare you back there.” He resisted the urge to indicate behind them both. “I just saw something move behind the dumpster. Thought you were someone else.”

The knife didn’t waver nor did the man say a thing in return. John stifled a sigh. Well, this didn’t instill any encouragement. Just who did this man think John was?

 _Oh, sure,_ his mind snorted at him, _focus on that instead of the BIG, HULKING WINGS right in front of you._

 _Stuff it,_ he snapped back. But his inner critic had a point. Where had those wings come from? They were massive, black things, stretched out on either side of the man like two guarding dogs. John didn’t doubt that a hit from them could break a rib or two. His head still hurt from the slight clip he’d received just a few seconds ago.

“Say, do you mind not pushing that knife in so deep? It’s kinda getting a little hard to breathe, yeah?” He met those turbulent eyes with calm order. “I’d rather not risk you killing me by accident.”

_‘Cause on purpose is so much better._

The knife drew back a teeny bit. Close enough still that John could feel it brushing against his skin if he took too big a breath, but not so close now the he feared he might end his life with one little movement. Nevertheless, it was an improvement. Meant the guy’s guard had lowered, if only a tiny margin. John marked that as a victory on his mental scorecard.

“You wanna let me know why you’ve been following us for a couple months now?” he asked as casually as he could. Like a friend asking about the weather, not a soldier trying to get Intel.

Six months.

That’s how long the rumors about a dark shadow stalking the soldiers of Squad Seven had been circulating. At first, it’d just been a flicker of something out of the corner of one or two soldiers’ eye. Then, a few men swore they’d heard footsteps on the rooftops and circling around them. But nothing was ever found, so Command chalked it up to stressed nerves and battle hungry troops. Tagged the “shadow” Unsub 052 and stuffed the details into a forgotten file.

Now John was staring up at the very thing everyone talked about. And boy, was he ever real. If the boney knees grinding into his ribcage weren’t incentive enough to believe, then the claws and growling covered it. Unsub 052 had gone from unlikely to very real in three point two seconds flat. Now, all John had to do was live through this and…well, he didn’t know what he’d do after that. He’d work on it later.

“Look,” John said firmly. “If you’re going to kill me I’d rather you do it already. This lying about with you on me is, frankly, annoying. And weird.”

The man blinked. Hard. And blinked again. As if he didn’t know how to process that. Good, John could work with uncertainty.

“If you’re not going to kill me, could you at least get off me and let me sit up? I think you proven quite nicely that you’re faster and stronger, so I’ve have no chance of getting away or winning in a fight.”

The man tilted his head to the side, a curious look growing in his eyes. He sat there on John for what seemed like hours before his claws gradually released John’s shoulder and he moved off to crouch several feet away. John sat up on his elbows and eyed him.

“Thanks.” He licked his cracked lips. “I’m going to sit up now. Nice and slow. No funny business, kay?”

The man’s upper lip curled back, but he didn’t growl or throw the knife at him, so John took that as a ‘yes’. He pushed off the warm bricks that made up the street for this back alley and inched his way up until he was in comfortable position. He even crossed his legs, Indian style, to make it seem as if he’d given himself a handicap. All the while the winged man stared at him and gripped his knife tight.

Once up, John ran a practiced eye over the guy, his medical instincts coming out.

Underweight. The problem, John suspected, came from those black wings. They looked healthy enough and could easily be fifty pounds each. 052’s height came to a good six feet. This man’s body just didn’t have enough energy to give, other than to those wings. _How does he even walk? He looks thin enough to crack in half with just a stiff breeze._

Shoulder length, greasy hair curled wildly around 052’s ears and neck. It gave the man a savage air, cementing that fact that he wasn’t a civilized person. But then, the nondescript, grey jumpsuit kinda screamed that too. The thick clothing threatened to overwhelm the man, so big was it on him. Almost as if whoever had given it to him hadn’t cared enough to make sure it fit him, but still wanted him to live and so gave him a means to keep warm at night.

_Because Heaven knows it gets bloody freezing here at night._

052’s breathe rattled in his chest, making John think he had the beginnings of a cold or flu. Or maybe that was a norm. Maybe whatever had given him these wings had changed how he breathed too. John couldn’t say, but he filed it away with the rest of the information on 052. Something to keep in mind should the rattle turn into a cough.

_Well, first things first. Make friendly with the locals._

John made sure to telegraph his every move as he reached into his right jacket pocket. The worn edge brushed against his fingertips. “You look kinda hungry. I’ve got an energy bar. You want it?”

The man coiled and snarled a little when his fingers disappeared into his pocket, but then blank surprise washed out everything as John pulled out the bar and unwrapped the crinkly packaging. Crinkle, crinkle. Blink, blink. The man watched John with a focused gaze that unnerved him. As soon as the wrapper was off the man sniffed the air and hissed as he back up some more.

John frowned.

Wasn’t he hungry? Didn’t he want the bar? If the ravenous stare meant anything, then yes. But yet the man continued to pull away, body now hunched like a feral cat. Why?

_It’s not as if I’m going to…Oh…Oh, you poor bastard._

It made sense now. Those wings couldn’t have come by natural means. That meant illegal science experiment. And, judging by how quickly 052 had jumped him, the tall man was a fighter. He’d probably struggled at every turn.

But what better way to control a person then by handling their food? Their water? Their very existence. Food, clothing, everything controlled by others for the sole purpose of making their subjects do whatever they wanted. John could just bet this man had escaped before – there was an intelligent spark in his eyes – and been recaptured by whoever’d had him before, using food or water.

It wasn’t as if the guy could just fly away or ask someone for help. His body mass was too weak to support those wings, let alone use them, and anyone who saw him would either shoot at him or probably faint from shock.

 _Well, at least I’m not fainting on him._ And he hadn’t meant to shoot. His finger had just been on the trigger when 052 had tackled him. Reflex had done the rest. He didn’t think he’d hit the man, but it was a little dark in the alleyway to tell. He hoped that if he had it had only clipped the man and not worse. _He could be bleeding out and I wouldn’t know until he collapsed from blood loss._

 _Right then. Time to cement my ‘friendly’ status._ John stuffed the wrapper back into his pocket and tossed the grain and nut bar gently towards the man. It landed with a muffled _thump_ on the street and the man scrambled back a good five feet. Enough so that he no longer knelt in the alley anymore. No sir, he was in plain sight for anyone to see if they came around the corner of the main street.

_Not good. They’ll shoot him…and it’ll be on purpose this time._

“Hey,” he said, but didn’t smile. Whoever had abused this man probably smiled all the time at him. John had to show him that he was different. Serious. “That bar’s yours now. I promise I’ll stay right here while you get it. No moving….or I could back up a bit, if you want. Your choice. Just nod if you want me to back a few feet.”

To be fair, John didn’t know if 052 could understand that much. He could’ve gotten off of him because John asked or because John’s tone was soothing enough to convince him to back away. But John would rather go on the assumption that 052 understood. It was nicer to think that 052 hadn’t been stripped off all humanity. And who would want to be treated like a dumb animal just because they had wings and hadn’t said a word yet anyway?

“Want me to back up?” he asked again.

052 nodded once. A rigid motion that seemed a bit forced, but John still rejoiced that he’d gone with option A and handled the man like a human being. That had to put a few good points in his direction. Least give 052 pause on killing him after he finished that bar.

 _Okay, John, let’s make good on your promise and hup-to._ John shuffled back three feet and cocked an eyebrow. “Good enough?”

In answer, the wings drew in closer to the man as he crept into the alley again. John hid a sigh of relief. Good, no one would see them now, unless they went into the alley. By that point, John would have enough time to try and mitigate any tensions going on. _Or, at least, tell 052 to run for the hills. Which either comes first._

John focused back on the present and watched as the wings dragged on the ground while the man picked up the bar. John wondered if the man was too just tired to keep them up anymore or if the bar had claimed dominance on all his mind. John thought it might be a mixture of the two. Regardless, the wings drooped as the man stuffed the bar into his mouth, all the while eying John with trepidation.

_Well, at least I was right about the hunger._

John cleared his throat once he saw 052 was done. The man jerked at the sound and hunched inward, wordlessly snarling at him. John ignored the hostile posturing. “So, you got a name? Because, I got to admit that calling you 052 is rude.”

The man’s jaw trembled and his eyes bounced from one location to the next. His breathing picked up a bit, but settled just as quickly, leaving only the anger to show. John frowned at that. The guy was obviously terrified, but yet he had enough control over his nerves to calm his outward appearance. Smart…and dangerous. John wouldn’t be able to tell the truth from the lies.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to give it to me. I haven’t given you mine.” Now John let a small smile come up. “My name’s John. John Watson. I’m a medic.”

“Medic.” The man rasped.

“Yes,” John said, grinning. “That’s right. I –”

“Medic. Healer. Poser. Liar.” The man interrupted. “Fix you only to break you open again.”

 _Oh, crud._ John’s grin fell with each new word and his panic rose at the last sentence. _This is bad._

“No, no,” John said, making sure to keep his posture lax and easy. “I’m not like that. I only heal so people can stay healed. I wouldn’t hurt them. It goes against my code.”

“Code?” The man tried the word out. “Coding to not hurt.”

“That’s right. It’s called the Hippocratic Oath. It means I swear to never willingly harm anyone under my care.”

The man seemed to turn this idea over in his head.

John pushed on. “That oath covers you too now.”

The man recoiled, his eyes wide with shock. So great was the surprise at this that all those barriers crashed down and John could see the thoughts racing across his face.

_He cares about me? He won’t hurt me? But why? They always hurt me. Why’s he not? Why won’t he? Will he?_

John headed him off before those thoughts could get any wilder. “You ate that bar, which helped your hunger. That means I healed you a bit. So, now the oath includes you.”

“Hippocratic oath not to hurt.”

“Yes. I swear to never hurt you.”

“And when I heal and leave?”

 _Clever man._ John straightened his shoulders. “I’ll still apply it to you. No one will hurt you while you’re with me. I’m your guardian now. If you need something, you ask and I give it. Someone bothers you, tell me and I’ll set them straight.”

The man blinked rapidly at all this and even John had to admit he’d promised a tad more than he’d meant to, at first. Not that he regretted it. No, looking at 052, John couldn’t say he would take anything back. This man needed someone in his corner and John wanted to be that person. He’d seen enough bullies to last him a lifetime. 052 was his friend now and Heaven help whoever came to get him.

_I’ve got a gun and I know how to use it and where to point it._

“So,” John said. “Thing is, I will help you, but I got to go right now. I’m on patrol and if I don’t check in soon they’ll send someone out to find me.”

“You’ll get into trouble.” And now worry sparked in those eyes.

“That too.” John took a deep breath. “Can I get up and go report in?”

“Gun.”

 _Oh. Well, that’ll be interesting to explain._ John glanced back at the mangled mess. “Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.”

The man cocked his head to the side like a raven and then abruptly dashed up the wall and over the side, disappearing into the night.

John scanned the dark sky and roof, but no sound or sight came back. The man was gone as if he’d never been there. His wings hadn’t even made a sound when he’d run off. Someone had really spent a lot of time and effort to make 052 a good weapon – cause what else would a winged creature be for?

 _Could be an exotic pet._ But that whole thing about doctors hurting him sounded too much like a government attempting to make a better weapon. Upgrading him so he’d be ready for any mission. John just hoped it wasn’t his own government that had authorized this.


	2. Round Two

The next time John met up with 052 it was two months later. Someone knocked on the house door and John didn’t dare think it coincidental that he was alone in his room at that time. Timid and yet somehow demanding, the two knocks had John raising an eyebrow. _Who could be calling at this hour?_

Not one of his squad. They knew they didn’t need to knock. And his commander, Dimmock, was anything but timid. So, that left an unknown presence. Could be a local, in need of a doctor – they did that sometimes – or an insurgent, hoping to “show his dedication” by killing a soldier. John reached for his gun just as a third knock sounded.

“Yes?” he asked, moving to just behind the table, in case he needed to flip it and take cover. The door pushed open and suddenly the winged man barged into the room.

“John, I –” 052 blinked several times when he saw John and the gun, a small bit of fear creeping into his eyes. The younger man had probably staked out the place, waited until he knew the other men left, and then crept closer. Seeing a gun right away couldn’t be very encouraging, though barging in wasn’t the smartest idea…but, for whatever reason, 052 had decided he needed help, so…

John slowly lay his gun aside and smiled. “Hey, there. Didn’t think I’d see you this soon. You good?”

In answer, 052 moved down the hall into the barrack’s bedroom. John blinked again and then sighed. _Abrupt as usual then._ He followed after the man and found him perched on the edge of a bed like a gargoyle. John pushed the bedroom door closed and locked it after a moment’s thought. Wouldn’t do to have anyone walk in and start screaming bloody murder.

“So…”John floundered. _Why’s he here anyway? And at…_ John checked the cheap clock near his bed. _1600 hours. It’s more than a bit early for him._

Usually the rumors about men seeing and hearing things go bump in the night didn’t start until 1800 or 1900 hours. What had changed? What was so wrong that 052 felt the need to break habit and see him? Somehow, John didn’t feel like it was just an urge to see him again.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, leaning his gun against the wall.

“Hurt,” the man said, flexing an ebony wing out slowly and fixing John with a guarded look.

John sucked in a breath. “Right then. Just give me a sec to get my things.”

He could feel the man’s eyes following him as he crossed the room and pulled his extra med bag out from under his bed. It felt raw, that penetrating gaze, as if the man could see every little secret John ever had. It unnerved John just a bit, but he brushed that off and turned around.

“So, what seems to be the problem?” he asked as he walked over, making sure he took his time so 052 could watch him and see he meant no harm.

“Hurt.”

 _Well, that was informative._ John rolled his shoulders back. “The left wing, right?”

The man’s response was to bring said wing in closer so that it almost trapped John between it and 052’s body. John ignored the close proximity and placed his bag on the bed. Turning, he glanced over the wing and found the problem at once. A deep laceration – _bullet grazing_. _A day old, at best,_ his mind supplied – cut through the carpometacarpus. John winced as he leaned closer to get a better look. The bullet had hit bone. How 052 wasn’t screaming in agony, John would never know.

_Doesn’t mean he didn’t when it happened._

            “So,” John said, picking through his med bag and withdrawing some gauze and rubbing alcohol. “Is it just the wing?”

052’s eyes, which had been focused on the wall, snapped to him again. They narrowed and scrutinized John until the doctor almost wanted to shuffle his feet. How could he prove to 052 that he meant no harm? He couldn’t very well just say it. John would bet good money that whoever had shot at him probably told him those lies all the time. Or maybe it’d been a lucky shot by one of the other squads last night. Squad 4 had mentioned a shadow following them. But they’d said nothing about shooting at it.

 _So that just leaves us with his former captors._ John glanced out the window. “Hey, I don’t have to worry about whoever did this coming around for a second try, do I? Cause, if that’s the case I’d like my gun a bit closer, so I can protect you better.”

052 blinked like an owl at him and tilted his head to the side, enhancing the birdlike characteristics. “No.”

Catching the ambiguous answer, John gave a lopsided smile. “No, there aren’t any more wounds or no I don’t have to worry?”

The winged man’s face softened a little. “Both.”

“Uh-huh.” John shook his head. He didn’t really believe that. Not one bit. He’d seen how 052 had been favoring his right leg and how he flinched if he turned too fast. That meant a possible wound on the leg and some more than likely bruised or fractured ribs. But John knew that to gain 052’s trust he’d have to play the young man’s game…least, until he collapsed or admitted to the truth. Whichever came first. “Right. Well, then I’m just going to clean this wing up and wrap a bit of gauze round it.”

“No gauze.”

“Yes gauze. It’ll keep the sand out.”

“No.” And the man puffed his right wing out and if John had been any other man, he might’ve been intimidated by how much larger it made the six foot man appear. How it made shadows seem to appear and loom over them. How it made the room seem even smaller and like it was closing in around him. But John being John wasn’t impressed, so…

“Yes.” He unscrewed the rubbing alcohol’s top and poured some onto a clean rag. “I’m the doctor and I get last say, so gauze it is.”

The man hissed.

John raised an eyebrow. “Acting like an animal will get you nowhere.”

A hurt look passed through 052’s face before he hunched in and riveted his gaze on the floor, all arguments silenced. John bit his lip at the subservient attitude, but knew he couldn’t let up on this. 052 had to know the boundaries in a doctor-patient relationship. New ones that John would use to show 052 that he meant no harm and cared for him. That fixing him up didn’t mean John would then hurt him.

“You know,” John started as he started to sanitize the wound, focusing on minimizing the sting while still being effective enough to clean the dried blood from it – along with all the sand. From experience, John knew how horrible salt was in a cut, as well as the sting of cleaning it out, so 052’s stoic silence amazed him. “You’re not an animal.”

052’s gaze felt like a thousand pounds as the man stared holes into the side of John’s head. “Yes.”

John paused and glanced up. “I’m going to assume that was a ‘yes, I’m not an animal’ and not a ‘yes, I am an animal’. Because you are not an animal, regardless of what anyone else has told you. And, before you say anything about parrots or monkeys, I’ll go ahead and tell you I’ve met those type of animals and you’re nothing like them.”

052’s face softened a bit more and something a bit vulnerable settled in the corners of his eyes. Some raw and open. The winged man didn’t say anything in return though. Yet John still felt he’d overcome a huge hurdle just now. Maybe the man had been told he was nothing more than an animal all his life or maybe he’d just never been treated with respect. Either way, John resolved to –

 _Whoa, jumping the gun a little aren’t we?_ John warned himself. _You know next to nothing about this guy…except, of course, he spared your life and trusts you enough to treat his wounds._

Why 052 had spared his life and why the man thought to trust him was something beyond John. He hadn’t done anything special, barring this right now, to prove himself to 052. John shook his head and went back to the wound. Dab, wipe, dab, wipe. Over and over John repeated this until the cut bled clean blood. Then he reached for the gauze.

A pale, thin hand snatched it away.

John froze and counted to ten before straightening and facing 052 head on. “Give it back.”

“No.”

 _Right. Time to step it up a notch and find things out._ “All right, spill,” John crossed his arms across his chest. “Why no gauze?”

052’s eyes shuttered. “Bad.”

“Bad how? Bad, cause people will see or bad cause that’s what it usually means?” John asked. “I told you before, I’m not going to hurt you. Remember? Hippocratic oath’s still in play.”

The winged man shifted in his perched position and clenched the rolled gauze. He opened his mouth several times, but then just as quickly closed it. He shook his head and pulled the hand with the gauze closer. “It…hurts.”

John frowned. “Hurts how? Are you allergic to something in it? Does it gives you hives or trouble breathing?”

That would complicate things. Cotton gauze was abundant, but the original silk ones were more difficult to get, though John knew the medic a few houses down that had some. He could, if 052 didn’t get too twitchy, pop out a few seconds and run to ask for some. Say he wanted one just in case he ran into someone with a cotton allergy. Sure, he might get laughed at and receive more than a few raised eyebrows, but John could pretty much guarantee he’d get one.

“I can go get another brand of gauze if you’re allergic,” he told 052.

The man shook his head, long locks whipping around. “No allergies.”

“Then what?”

“Always hurts.”

“Afterward? When they fix you?”

052 narrowed his eyes and silently snarled at him. John took that as an emphatic ‘yes’. So, that…made things a tad harder. John had thought he’d gotten it across to the winged man that he was different from those people. He’d explained the Hippocratic Oath and 052 had come seeking his aid. But then…

 _I’ve no idea just how long they’ve had him or what they’ve done._ John took a deep breath. _And it’s not like we’re best friends or anything. We barely know each other. And one nut bar doesn’t mean a thing really._

_Right._

“Right.” John held his hand out for the gauze. He’d thought to be firm on this, but now he realized it needed to be baby steps. “No gauze this time. Can I have it back though? We don’t exactly have an unlimited amount right now.”

052 scanned him up and down several times, toyed with the gauze, and then thrust the cotton ball at John’s chest. John stumbled back a few steps at the abrupt and strong shove, but caught the gauze all the same. 052’s eyes widened, almost as if he hadn’t know his own strength, and he hunched in a bit more. John softened his stance. No need for the winged man to think he would get into trouble for a little overreacting.

“Thanks,” John said instead. He slowly moved back over and put the gauze into his med bag. 052 watched his every move with unblinking eyes. It unnerved John more than a bit and he had to wonder if 052 knew that and did it on purpose, just to offset him. Something made John think it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities. 052 had a look in his eyes that said he knew more than he let on.

_He’d have to, given all he’s been through…whatever that is._

“So,” John said. “Anything else I can help with? Nut bar? I’ve a few on the night stand if you want them.”

052 glanced over at the stand and frowned. “And your food?”

 _Huh._ John gave a crooked grin. “They feed us more than that, if that’s what you’re asking. The bars are just treats sent from home. Everyone gets a share and those are mine. I can eat them or give them to someone else. Whatever I want.”

John took a breath. That’d been a mouthful, more than he usually said, but 052 seemed like the type to appreciate in-depth explanations. That, and John wanted him to know that he wouldn’t be starving anyone by taking the bars….or that John would get in trouble. It’s be interesting, explaining where they went, but John knew how to cover for himself.

“So, want them?” John asked.

052 licked his blue tinted lips – John hoped it was a part of his bird-like makeup and not a hint that the man had hypothermia – and nodded. Well, more jerked his head in something that resembled a nod. John got the idea anyway and snatched the bars up, holding them out to 052. The thin hand reached out and plucked them from John’s palm.

“If you want,” John tried, “I can save my next ones for you too.”

For some reason that ticked the winged man off and he threw the bars to the floor. “No!”

John recoiled. He’d thought he might be going too fast for the man. But he had to try, right? John bit the inside of his lip and exhaled. Right. Time to try and fix this. A short burst of humor ran through John. He’d had to do more fixing with this man than anything else. It was like a bloody landmine. One misstep and Boom! He had another mess to repair.

“Okay, then, I won’t save them.” John promised.

052 grabbed his hair and yanked on it. Hard. John resisted the urge to physically stop the man from hurting himself. It twisted his insides to see someone looking so lost and angry. Reminded him too vividly of his sister and patients too far gone to help. Well, not this patient. John wouldn’t let it be too late for 052.

“What’s wrong?” John asked. “What’d I do?”

The winged man glared at him and curled his lip up into a silent snarl. The wings lifted a bit and curled around John, almost as if 052 was making sure the other man couldn’t escape. John accepted the performance – because that’s what it was – with outward calm, though inwardly the volatile action freaked him out. He couldn’t let on about that though. 052 had to see him as strong, as well as calm and helpful. John drew himself up and put an unrelenting look into his eyes.

_Time for hard ball._

“I told you before, acting like an animal will get you nothing.” John folded his arms across his chest. “So, stop it. I know you know better.”

052 surged to his feet, wings flaring out wide, and towered over John. “How?”

John flinched back, his arms coming to his sides in a tight stance, but he forced himself to stay where he was. _Okay, right. This got ugly quick._ His fingers twitched to hold his gun, to give himself a small modicum of protection should 052 decide to become hostile, but it stood against the wall, all the way across the room. John wouldn’t be able to reach it in time. Plus, it would only exacerbate this, not help. John needed a calm head for this one. He took a deep breath.

_Defuse the situation. Use your words, not your fists._

“Regardless of what you may have heard around town, I can’t read minds.” John snarked, hoping the sarcasm would penetrate the thick fog of anger that seem to be surrounding 052. “You’re gonna have to be more specific. How, what?”

“How do you know? What proof?” 052 poked him in the chest. “How!”

 _Okay, we’re getting somewhere now._ Though John was still at a bit of a loss. He could feel a niggling in the back of his mind, but it refused to come forward. He _should_ know what 052 was alluding toward, he could feel he should. Why couldn’t he then? John sighed and rubbed his temples. He glanced up at 052. “I know you think that’s more specific, and it probably is, but I’m stupid right now. What are you freaking out about?”

“Not freaking out!” 052 snarled.

“Fine. What are you…interested in knowing?”

“You’re different. Why?”

 _Oh._ And then it dawned on John, that allusive puzzle piece to 052’s anger. The poor man couldn’t wrap his head around John’s kindness. It freaked him out and confused him, so the winged man lashed out, hoping to elicit a response that would explain it all. John’s insides twisted once more.

“Because that’s the way I’m built.” John said. “I want to help other people. And, yes, you’re people too.”

052 snarled and slid a step away. His wings scraped the ceiling, sending bits of plaster flaking down. John sneezed and waved the dusty things away. It didn’t really help, but it was the thought that counted, right?

“Form up!” a voice yelled outside the building.

052 stiffened, his wings snapping in until they curled around his body like a protective shell. John’s eyes widened. His fellow soldiers were back. He cursed under his breath. Not good. Really, really not good. They couldn’t see 052. Not yet. They weren’t ready for it. John scanned the room.

“Can you fit through that window?” John asked, pointing to the rather large on a few feet away.

052 glanced at it. “Yes.”

“Good. Do it. I’ll distract them.” John marched over to the door, unlocked it, and strode out without a backward glance. Every second counted here. He met his roommates just as they walked into the main area of the two room building. He plastered on a grin and shook his head.

“Bring the rest of the desert in with you?” he asked.

“Nah, leaving that for you, John,” one of them, Lestrade, winked. “Thought it the perfect ‘welcome home’ present.”

“How kind of you.” John snorted as the rest of eight man unit chuckled. Then a thought ran through his head and he pushed the smile off his face. “How’d it go out there? Any movement?”

“Not even a blink,” Anderson grumbled. “Why are we patrolling this place? No one’s seen anything and there’ve been no reports of unfriendlies.”

John shrugged. “Not our job to ask.”

“Sure. Right.” Lestrade said and then stomped into their room.

John forced himself to stay right where he was. He’d given 052 all the time he could. Either he’d gotten out through that window or Lestrade would be screaming bloody murder any second now. But time went by and no yelling came forth, so John allowed himself to relax and follow Lestrade back into their room. He found the older man kicking his boots off with a relieved sigh. 052 wasn’t in sight.

John heaved a quiet sigh of relief. _Thank God._

A pungent smell of foot odor wafted over and John glared at Lestrade. “You know you’ll just have to put those on in a few minutes.”

Lestrade grinned and wiggled his sock covered toes. “Yep.”

“The smell would kill a wild boar,” Anderson groaned as he sauntered in. A few of the other men mock gagged as they entered the bedroom as well. Lestrade shot them all the stink eye.

“Live with it,” Lestrade sighed, stretching his feet out. “I swear I feel like these things glue themselves to my feet.”

“If only,” John snarked.

Lestrade rolled his eyes and flipped over to catch a quick rest before they went out on patrol. “So, anything happen while we were out?”

“Nothing much,” John said. _If you discount the winged man I just helped._

“You off toilet scrubbing duty yet?” Anderson asked, brushing his short hair of all the sand that always seemed to collect itself on it.

John nodded. “Think so.”

“Dimmock was ticked off at you, man.”

“Don’t remind me. If I never see another toilet, it’ll be too soon.”

Lestrade glanced over his shoulder. “Well, you asked for it, breaking your gun to smithereens. I still can’t figure it. What’d you do, break up with your girlfriend or something?”

John shrugged. “Or something. Look it’s over. I’ll actually be joining you all for dinner today, instead of serving it, so shut it or you’ll be sorry.”

“I know,” Anderson moaned, throwing a hand over his eyes. “And I was just getting used to the quiet and normality. Hey, Lestrade, think Dimmock will consider benching Watson another few days if we ask?”

“In your dreams,” Lestrade said. “Now, hush, I want to catch a few zzz’s.”

“Only a few?” John couldn’t help but asked.

A lazy eye glared at him from across the room. “Keep it up, Watson. I _know_ where you keep your secret tea stash and I _will_ take it.”

“Fine, fine,” John said, waving his hand placatingly. “Come on, Anderson, let’s leave him to his beauty sleep.”

A pillow flew across the room at him. John caught it and chuckled. “I hope you don’t think I’m returning this.”

“Tea stash.”

John lobbed the pillow back over and walked out of the room with Anderson. “Come on, let’s make sure I’m not on tonight’s dinner crew. Then we’ll collect Lestrade and the rest of these back water barbarians.”

A chorus of shouts and howls followed them out the barrack. John only grinned at Anderson and laughed.


	3. Group Grows By One

The winged man stared down at Lestrade even as he hunched over; wings tucked in, but ready to flare out at a moment’s notice, eyes darting to all three men before him, gauging where the first attack would come from – though John hoped 052 knew enough to count him as an ally. It didn’t help that the wind ruffled through 052’s wings and made him seem even more ethereal. Even the bright sunlight tried to play on the young man’s dark hair and clothes, casting creeping shadows on his sharp cheekbones, to make him look more dangerous.

 _Please, trust me,_ John begged 052 with his eyes. The winged man’s body remained rigid, but his wings did lower a little. John took that a good sign. Relying on 052 to take the higher road right now, John focused his attention on the two men beside him. The squad had split up to cover more ground and John got Anderson and Lestrade. He concentrated on Lestrade. Anderson would follow the older man’s lead, if John could get him to listen to him.

_Time to put those seminars on talking down a hostile to good use._

“Lestrade, put down the gun,” John whispered as he reached a hand out and lightly placed it on top of the automatic that Lastrade held against his shoulder. Not the best words, but the only ones that came to mind at the moment. Besides, Lestrade was a straightforward kind of guy. Though…this might be stretching things a bit far. John could feel the slight tremors through the metal. Lestrade was scared stiff and ready to deal with the supposed threat. Anderson stood on the opposite side of John, gun also at the ready. Unlike Lestrade though, Anderson’s entire body shook.

_Well, in their defense, it’s not every day you see a winged man._

“Lestrade!” John breathed, praying that the older man would just listen. He’d been a cop, for Heaven’s sake, Lestrade knew not to take things at face value. Now, if only he’d wait a few more minutes, so John could show him 052 meant no harm.

 _Least, not yet._ John admitted to himself. _They start shooting, I can’t guarantee anything._

The grey haired man’s stance tensed even more and the gun didn’t waver from where it trained on 052’s heart. “Are you insane, Watson?”

“Greg, please,” John pleaded in a whisper. “Trust me. He’s not a threat.”

“You’ve gone rogue, haven’t you?” Anderson’s gun turned in his direction and aimed it for his head. “How much did they offer you? What price was right for your country?”

John swallowed his groan. This couldn’t be happening now. They’d found a few insurgents, radioed it in, and followed a safe distance. But then the desert men had disappeared and 052 popped up. John had a suspicion 052 had made sure those particular insurgents never saw another day. Regardless, Lestrade freaked and now John was evidently a turncoat. Great. Just what John needed today. The Brass would just love to hear this one.

_Harry will get a kick out of this one. I’ll never hear the end of it. Ever._

“Idiot,” a baritone voice said.

“What’d you say, freak?” Anderson hissed, gun moving back to aim at the winged man. John wanted to roll his eyes. What man accused his fellow soldier of being a traitor and then stopped guarding him? John now had a perfect opening to take Anderson out, if he so wanted. 052 was right. Anderson was acting like an idiot right now. No one turned their back on an enemy.

_I told them he was too green to be sent out yet._

Anderson gestured his gun at 052. “Come on, freak, say it again.”

John narrowed his eyes at the second use of the ‘freak’ slur, but 052 answered before he could say anything about it.

“John would never betray his country. His morals are too high for that.”

“Oh yeah?” Anderson sniped. “I just bet you’d say that. Protect your informant friend. Bet he gives you all sorts of Intel on us.”

052 huffed a sigh and looked for all the world as if he were bored. It took John back a bit. Didn’t the man realize just how precarious his standing was right now with these two? He tried to catch 052’s attention, warn him to back off, but the younger man studiously ignored him. John bristled. The winged man had no sense of self-preservation.

 _We’re having a long overdue talk about this death wish when this is over,_ John promised himself. _But first…_

“I haven’t told him anything, Anderson. I’m not a traitor.” John scowled. “Now put that gun down before you hurt someone.”

“You bast –”

“Now, Private!” John barked, pulling himself up and glaring into Anderson’s wide eyes. The man pointed the gun at ground without a thought, his months of drill sergeants screaming into his ear flashing up just as John hoped they would. There was a reason the sergeants used that tone of voice. But John saw the instant those memories faded and reality push in as Anderson’s eyes darkened and his forehead creased.

“Why you little –”

“Anderson, shut it,” Lestrade said, his aim still on 052, though it looked a bit less aggressive now. Hope flared in John, but he kept it from burning too bright. He needed a clear head on this one. No rose-tinted glasses. Lestrade glanced over at him.

“What’s the deal, Watson? Who’s your new friend?”

John swallowed. “This is 052.”

Anderson paled to bone white and his gun started to inch forward a bit. John glared him back into submission. Lestrade blanched too and his breathing picked up. The older man focused fully on 052. “So, the rumors are true. Someone has been following us.”

“Yes.” Short and to the point, because what else could John say? No, you got it wrong? Yes, but he’s not dangerous. One look at the winged man would refute that claim.

“Huh, thought so.” Lestrade lowered his weapon. “Good to know I’m not crazy.”

_What?_

Evidently, Anderson also felt John’s shock, since he repeated the thought verbally. “What?!”

John blinked and glanced between 052 and Lestrade. Was there something going on that he didn’t know about? Had Lestrade…John drew in a sharp breath. “You’ve seen him before.”

“Of a sort.” Lestrade fingered his weapon and tilted his head to the side, scanning 052 up and down. “Had an Unsub sneak up on me a few months ago. Next thing I know, I’m being bowled over by a black shadow. I see wings, feathers, hear the man scream bloody murder, and then I’m left with a dead man and a bruised shoulder.”

_Well, that explains a few things about that checkup._

Lestrade shook his head. “Thought I was going nuts for a while. But then more people were saying things about finding odd black feathers and hearing things around them.”

John watched at Lestrade took a step forward. “You saved my life, son, and I won’t be forgetting that anytime soon.”

052 cocked his head to the side and drew his wings in about him. The young man’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but nothing came out. Almost as if he didn’t know how to react to such open thankfulness or trust. Maybe he’d never had someone appreciate his help before. The idea saddened John, but wouldn’t surprise him if it were true.

“So, that’s it then?” Anderson drawled. “We’re just going to trust him? How do we know he didn’t set that whole thing up? Get on the inside and sell us out.”

John’s entire body shook from the effort it took to not punch Anderson’s smug face. The little twit knew nothing about 052. What right did he have to sum up his actions like that?

_But then, for that matter, what right to Lestrade and I have? We’ve known 052 only a bit longer than Anderson. What makes us so different?_

“Brains,” 052 said out the blue.

“Sorry?”

“What?”

052 backed a step and scrutinized them all. “You think. He doesn’t. Brains.”

John saw Anderson flinch out the corner of his eye and knew 052 had hit a rather large nerve there. He stepped in front of the younger man and leveled a hard look at him. “Don’t.”

“But he –”

“Anderson,” Lestrade cut in. “Don’t let him get to you.”

John patted Anderson’s shoulder as he slumped and went from raging to simmering. That done, he raised an eyebrow at 052. “Stop trying to provoke him.”

052 huffed and looked away, hunching over a little. The winged man seemed annoyed at being called out on his actions, but John remained firm. They had successfully defused the situation. They didn’t need 052 rekindling it by insulting Anderson. Why the man was even trying to do so was beyond John.

_Probably has to do with that death wish._

“So, we should probably radio in and say we lost those men,” Lestrade said, tucking his gun under his arm.

“They’re dead,” 052 said in a flat tone.

“And we’ll pretend to not hear that too.”

John hefted his gun to under his arm as well. “Sounds good.”

“What?” Anderson spluttered. “He just admitted to killing them and we’re just going to pretend that’s all right?”

“They were after us,” Lestrade answered.

“Oh really? And how’d you figure that one?”

“He killed them.”

A short pause. A blink from both Anderson, who probably didn’t want to believe that, and 052, who looked as if he was reevaluating Lestrade’s character. John shuffled his feet meaningfully and gave Anderson glare. Anderson growled.

“Fine. But don’t come to me when this blows up in your faces.” He whirled around. “I’ll call it in.”

Both John and Lestrade watched him go. John saw Lestrade glance at him. The older man frowned. “Think he’ll crack?”

John pondered that. Anderson was young to the unit. Still wet enough to try and kiss up from time to time, but seasoned enough to be careful not to do it too often – no one liked a snitch. Reporting this in could possibly make Anderson’s career. At least bump him up a few stars. Yet, John shook his head. “Not if you tell him you trust 052.”

He paused and sent Lestrade a look. “You actually mean it, Anderson will go through walls for you. He looks up to you.”

“Great.” Lestrade sighed and gave a half grin. “No pressure, right?”

“Not a bit. Just…” John hesitated. “Greg…”

“Spit it out, Watson. 052 and I don’t have all day, you know.”

“Don’t let Anderson know you’re nervous. He’s not entirely stupid.”

“Yes, he is.” 052 put in, voice even and sure.

John sent him the stink eye. “Stop that. Anderson’s not a complete idiot. He knows Lestrade doesn’t just trust willy-nilly.”

Lestrade flushed at the compliment, but brushed it off with a fond chuckle. “Anderson’s got a good head on his shoulders. Now all we have to do is make him use it, eh 052?”

“Don’t encourage him, Lestrade!”

052’s lips curled up a bit.

“Oh, come off it, Watson.” Lestrade said. “Anderson would have to have a death wish to report this.”

“Why?” 052 asked, his forehead furrowed in thought.

Lestrade grinned a wide unfriendly smile. “Because John would gut him if he squealed on you and Anderson knows it.”


	4. East Wind

The video had a tendency to freeze and spurt at the most inconvenient times. Right now, poor Mrs. Hudson’s face was frozen in an expression of animated delight, stretched and elongated in her action of getting up. Her image had been kept like this for the past two minutes. Thank heavens John could still hear her well enough. It made for an interesting conversation though. John had no idea if his picture was stopped on her side and thus had to keep reacting as if he could see her glorious new tea set….which was hard, seeing as he couldn’t. He’d yet to work up the nerve to tell his old landlady that he hadn’t yet seen her ‘nifty, just plain sturdy’ tea set.

 _Great. I can run into areas with bullets flying, but I can’t tell one little, old lady that our connection is frozen solid._ John smirked. _England's best, folks._

“John?” Mrs. Hudson’s motherly voice cut in. “What are you smiling on about? Have you… (a little gasp sounded)…Oh, have you found someone?”

Here John did laugh. Chuckled, really, and loved Mrs. Hudson all the more for it. The woman was the only one who could get him to relax nowadays. His family had all but disowned him once he’d decided to enlist. That’s how he’d met Mrs. Hudson, looking for a flat. The woman had taken one look at him, reduced the price (there was no arguing with her about it), and practically shoved him into the top flat with a ‘some people just don’t appreciate their family, my dear’. And the rest, as they say, was history. Every two weeks, Mrs. Hudson skyped him and told him the gossip of her little social circle and how well her small bakery shop was doing (quite well, if Mrs. Hudson was anything to go by).

“Oh, John, shall I meet her when you get home? Is she in your unit?”

“No, no woman are in my unit, Mrs. H. We’re…” John paused in time to not disclose how his unit was a black op team and smiled. “I think the brass might have found a woman. Not sure. Just rumors right now. Plus, the right one for me is back with you in England.”

“Ahh. Yes. Sarah”

 _It’s like I thought then._ John slumped a bit. “Sarah’s moved on, hasn’t she?”

“Oh, John, I’m sorry,” Mrs. Hudson’s voice squeaked out. “I tried to reason with her, but the woman just wouldn’t hear of it. Got herself attached to a rich lawyer uptown.”

John sighed and leaned his chin against his fist. “I guessed as much. Letters stopped coming a few months ago. Thought it might mean she’d…well, anyway, it is rather hard to have a relationship when you don’t know if your boyfriend is coming home.”

The screen decided at that moment to reboot and Mrs. Hudson’s face suddenly started moving again. Her wizened brow now sported creases and her eyes were narrowed. “Now, you stop right there, young man. That is no excuse and you know it. Plenty of soldiers have fiancés, boyfriends, and girlfriends who wait quite nicely over here. Even Greg’s wife is there for him. Sarah just wasn’t strong enough, that’s all there is to it.”

John decided the right plan of action was to bow out on this one. Mrs. Hudson had obviously had time to think this one over more than him. She’d made up her mind and John knew nothing short of the queen herself would change it. So, he hummed once and sent Sarah a brief, silent thought of support and forgiveness.

 _I understand, even if Mrs. H doesn’t, Sarah._ He swallowed his disappointment. _I hope you’re happy with him. Truly, I do. And he better treat you right._

“When do you think you’ll next be shipped back over here, John?” Mrs. Hudson asked as she clinked her tea cup down on her saucer. John spared the tiny cup a glance. Pink roses swirled around it. Huh. Girly, but not bad for a yard sale find. But then, Mrs. Hudson did tend to be a pro at those. She’d even found an antique vase worth thousands and somehow only paid six pounds (ten dollars) for the piece.

But that was Mrs. Hudson for you.

“I might be back in a few months,” John finally said. “Depends on how this next tour goes.”

Being a black op team tended to be a bit different from other units. True, John was only the doctor, but the doctor of such a unit also operated under slightly different times too. If the targets were acquired or taken out. If leaks were found and needed...fixing (of the permanent type). And so on and so forth. Sometimes, John wondered what it might’ve been like if he’d said ‘no’ to the General’s request. If he’d told the older man he wanted to stay with the normal units and tours.

_Harry did warn me not to be a hero._

“That’s nice, John,” Mrs. Hudson suddenly put in. “I’ll get your room aired and the sheets fresh.”

“No need to do that yet. I’m not even sure if it’s even true.”

Mrs. Hudson’s face fell and she worried the edge of her tea cup. “Oh.”

John couldn’t stand when she got that disappointed tone in her voice. She’d had such a hard life and having a husband like she did couldn’t help any. He sat straighter. “How about you keep that on a back burner and I’ll let you know when the time comes closer? I’m almost positive the tour will go well, so don’t count me out yet.”

He winked in an attempt to lighten the mood. Mrs. Hudson let his weak attempt succeed, she was good like that, and twittered happily. “You’ll have to meet Mrs. Turner next store. She’s opened her own apartments.”

“Competition?”

Mrs. Hudson gave him the evil eye. “Hardly.”

“Right.” He chuckled and checked his watch. “Look, Mrs. H, sorry to cut this short, but my time’s up. Call next week?”

“Of course, dear.”

He smiled and waved a little and clicked the mouse on the red phone button. Mrs. Hudson paused again and then disappeared altogether, leaving only the usual blue screen of Skype home. He sighed.

“You can come out now.” A tiny scuffle and then a dark mop of hair poked out, a frown on the pale face below it. 052 glared at him to explain. John picked up the black feather on his desk. “Blew in front of my face. You’re lucky Mrs. Hudson was getting her new tea set.”

052 huffed and then shuffled his feet like some scolded kid. He did that sometimes when John told him off for being careless about hiding or for putting himself in danger for them. John couldn’t figure out if the shy action was legitimate or if the winged man was manipulating him.

Sentiment. That’s what the man called it. Said people placed too much value on it and let it sway them to do stupid things, like die or get shot. John didn’t point out that 052 seemed to be doing a lot of ‘sentiment’ the past few months, what with saving Lestrade’s life and a few of the other blokes. Of course, knowing 052, the winged man would only say he was bored.

 _My foot._ John shook his head as he lay the feather back on his desk. “So, the wing all healed up by now?”

“Yes.”

“Mind if I take a look at it?”

052’s eyes narrowed and he hunched in a little.

“Just to make sure,” John reassured him. “I trust you though, if you don’t feel up to it.”

Let it not be said John wasn’t up to a little manipulation too. He knew the younger man had a streak of pride the size of America. So why not put it to good use and get John some peace of mind? A win-win on both sides.

A defiant gleam flared in 052’s eyes and he slunk over. “Not afraid.”

“Didn’t say you were,” John said, settling closer to the man and reaching up to touch the ebony wing.

“Implied it.”

“Touché. Can you bring your wing down lower a bit? I’m not liking that sand in there.”

“Doesn’t hurt.”

“It will when it gets infected.”

“Already clotted.”

“With the sand in it?” John raised an eye. “Have you been picking at it again?”

It hadn’t taken long for John to realize that whenever 052 got nervous or agitated he tended to scratch at the wound. Absentmindedly, mind you, but opening it all the same. Same went for any bruises or cuts. John couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Why cause yourself more pain? 052 didn’t seem like the self-harm type….but then John hadn’t known him all that long either. Still, it just didn’t ring true.

So that brought him back to the question of ‘why’. He’d forgone asking 052. The man would only dodge the question and probably insult Anderson somehow (he liked doing that).

“Well?” John pushed.

“Sorry.” 052 ducked his head and scowled at the wall. “Got bored.”

“Liar.” John knew an avoidance tactic when he saw one. Refusing to look someone in the eye, quick apologies were only the first symptoms. 052 had been edgy since Monday. Now he’d evidently forgotten his promise of leaving the wing alone and worried over something. Something he didn’t want John to know about. Well, fat lot of good that. John pulled himself up straight. “What’s wrong?”

052 sneaked a glance over at him and snarled silently at him. John only raised an eye brow. 052 twitched to the left, away from John, and went blank.

“Moriarty.”

Him again.

052 had first mentioned him two weeks ago. Not too much, the winged man hardly spoke a lot, but enough that John still felt shivers at the man’s name. A spider, 052 said, who controlled countries. A man who cared for no one and loved to kill for fun. A man who had made 052 into what he was (that, John had figured out for himself from the hints of a dark room and sharp needles). A man who wanted 052 back.

John took in a deep breath. “Has he found you?”

052 did his bird rendition and scanned John head to toe, as if John had somehow done something unexpected again. After a moment though: “He will.”

“The wing’s healed enough that you can fly longer. Ireland might be a good option right now.” John sat back on a bed. “They’ve a thing to help refugees up and running. You could sneak in.”

“No.”

“How about England then? I know Mrs. Hudson would put you up if I asked her.”

“Husband.”

“He’s a bastard, but you can handle him.”

052 shook his head, curls bouncing. “Works for Moriarty.”

John sucked in a quick breath. “Mrs. Hudson’s husband works for Moriarty?”

052 nodded and looked away again.

Oh. Well…that changed things, didn’t it? Fear raced through John and exploded in his head. He gripped 052’s arm. “Is she in danger? Should we get her out?”

“No.”

John didn’t know if 052 meant ‘no, she’s not in danger’ or ‘no, we’re not rescuing her’. Either option didn’t sit well with him. This wasn’t the time to get hung up on weaknesses and sentiment. This was the time to act on them and possibly save a sweet, old woman.

“We’re not leaving her,” he hissed at 052.

The winged man only blinked apathetically down at him. It made John’s blood boil. Did the man really not care for anyone? If so, why save Lestrade? Why save those other men? Why look after John’s unit at all?

 _Because you’re an asset against Moriarty,_ a treacherous piece of his mind supplied. And John hated it, but the little whisper caused him more pause then it should have. It made sense, in a sick way, that 052 only saw them as pawns, as assets ready to set on his former captors. Heck, the poor man was only an asset to Moriarty and had probably only ever been treated as a pet, at best. How would he know to treat other people any differently?

 _Well, that changes as of now._ John pulled his uniform jacket down and stared defiantly into 052’s eyes. “We’re not leaving her.”

052 trembled, whether from anger or annoyance John couldn’t quite tell. His wings flared out and towered over John, almost like a black shroud. John ignored them, as he usually did when 052 got this way. He rolled his shoulders.

“Is she in any danger?” he asked. “The truth or we’re going to be having words later.”

“No.”

“Not good enough. That could mean anything. Be more specific.”

“No, she’s not.”

John resisted the urge to relax. “You sure? Positive?”

“Yes.”

“How much?” John risked a little sentiment. “She’s like a mother to me.”

052’s face seemed to soften a moment. “95 percent chance. Moriarty hates fish.”

The last part made absolutely no sense to John, but then 052 had a tendency to spurt out random facts as if everyone should know them. John pushed that aside and focused on the more important part: Mrs. Hudson was off this Moriarty’s radar for now. Good. Now they could pay attention to the more immediate danger.

“Okay then. Do you know where he is? Moriarty, I mean. Do you have time to hide?”

052 shrugged. “No.”

“Sooo, he’ll find you?” John felt his blood boil. It wasn’t right. 052 shouldn’t be forced to go back to whatever monsters had held him before. They cared nothing for him. That much was obvious from his surprise and suspicion at any kindness. It stung John, to think that this young man had been experimented on. But that was in the past and John couldn’t do anything to change it. What he could do was make sure this Moriarty bloke never got his hands on 052.

“Right.” John tugged at his uniform again. “You stay here. I’m getting Lestrade.”

“Why?”

More than a hint of suspicion in that one word.

“Because we’re getting you out of here tonight and I need someone to watch my six while I watch yours.”

“Oh.”

052 then proceeded to blank out, as he tended to do sometimes, and John left to find Lestrade. The older man would help, John knew that. The former policeman had a soft spot for their winged friend. John thought he might even look at 052 as a son from time to time. Least, it seemed that way whenever Lestrade lectured the winged man on his manners or safety. Blimey, that one time they’d caught 052 with a bit of coke had been a sight to see. John thought Lestrade might explode, so angry was the man, and 052 hadn’t seemed to know what to do with himself, shifting from affronted to confused at the drop of a hat.

_But at the end of the day, Greg cares for him and that’s all I need._

They’d get 052 out of harm’s way.

And then figure out just who this Moriarty character was, and what kind of danger he posed to them all.


	5. One Step Back

**_Whap!_ **

John grit his teeth as 052 bumped into him yet again, making that the fifth time this past three minutes. The continuous mistakes puzzled John, though he supposed it really wasn’t 052’s fault. It was his wings that caused the trouble. The wind howled through the dunes this evening and every four or five gusts the wings would be caught and 052 ended up stumbling. Right into John. It also didn’t help that 052 had all but plastered himself to John’s side.

_At this rate I won’t even need a shadow._

But John got it, really he did. The winged man was scared and wanted to be close to a source of protection at all times. Heck, if someone as dark as Moriarty was after him, John would be on edge too. Not that 052 would admit to having such emotions as fear. Heaven forbid the man show such “weakness” as to actually _rely_ on the two men who were risking their lives and careers, not to mention their good name, for his sake.

When Dimmock found out John had lied about the inoculations (it was the only excuse John had been able to come up with to get both Lestrade and he out of the barracks together)…Well, a dishonorable discharge would be the least of his worries. Court marshaling, prison, the ideas were endless. And Lestrade would be pulled along for the ride too, seeing as he was a ‘willing accomplice’. Yeah, it’d be loads of fun. And all because a winged man had asked for help. Oh, he hadn’t said those exact words, but the fact he’d admitted to Moriarty finding him was as good as a cry for aid.

So, here John and Lestrade were, sneaking through the desert, at night. They’d even stolen a satellite phone, in case they needed backup (regardless of the further punishment that theft would entail). That had been Lestrade’s idea and he’d refused to budge on it. John stifled a groan at the thought of how bad this situation was.

 _Is it asking too much that I get some trust in return?_ He tried to ignore the little voice that said 052 was placing some faith in them. He’d followed them without complaint, hadn’t he? Yep, not a single word of question or objection. And that made John a little nervous. As long as he’d known 052 – which, granted, wasn’t that long – the winged man had always had something to say. The fact that he hadn’t said anything for hours…well, nothing good could come of that.

John glanced back at the dark silhouette of the shivering man behind him. He frowned at that, momentarily letting his frustration subside as he slowed his steps to match those of his silent companion. “You all right?”

052 drew a sharp breath in, the hunch in his shoulders becoming more pronounced. “Yes.”

 _Of all the…_ John shook his head. “Try again.”

052’s whole body continued to shake. “I’m fine!”

“Yeah, even I don’t believe that anymore,” Lestrade said, sidling up to 052’s left side. He hiked his gun up higher on his shoulder and peered up into 052’s hooded eyes. “What’s up, mate?”

052 just growled and attempted to shoulder his way past John, but John grabbed his arm. 052 froze and glanced down at the appendage. He tried to yank himself free, but John proved stronger and 052 remained captive. The young man’s lips curled up and he practically snarled at John. “Let go.”

 _Something’s definitely wrong._ John dug his heels in and stood his ground. “No. We’re dealing with this right here, right now. Spill.”

052 scanned both of them. “You’re tired. Rest.”

“Lestrade and I will do that later. And I know for a fact you hate sleeping, so no go.” Though, the young man did seem more tired than usual. He kept blinking, as if he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. John chocked it up to the man running on fumes and kept his grip firmly on 052’s arm, leveling his best ‘captain’ stare on the lanky man. “Try again.”

052 squirmed, narrowed his eyes, and shifted his wings up and out. In the moonlight, they seemed even bigger than before. 052 stepped back, heedless of John’s grip on him. “No.”

 _Oh no you don’t._ John tugged him closer. “Stop trying to avoid this. We’re trying to help you, but we can’t do that without all the intel.”

Lestrade stepped around the black wings and leaned down to catch 052’s eyes again. “We’ve risked a lot, doing this for you, and put a lot of trust in your word. Now, it’s your turn.”

052 bit his lip and looked up. John gasped at the two black eyes that stared into his. 052’s pupils were blow wider than Anderson’s ego. And that, combined with the symptoms of being remarkably uncoordinated and sleepy, meant only one thing in John’s books. Heroin. He stifled his anger and tried to be as levelheaded as possible.

“Where’d you get it?” he asked 052.

“What?” Lestrade asked, his gaze springing from John’s face to 052’s and back again. “Where’d he get what? John?”

John subdued a growl and tugged 052 down, sitting them both near a tuff of grass. “He’s high.”

“Oh.” Lestrade’s face drained of color faster than ice melted on a hot summer day. “That’s…”

“Yeah. Bit not good.” John kept his grip of 052’s arm. The man trembled and avoided his eyes, staring at some spec of sand to the right. John wasn’t going to stand for it. He knew for a fact that the man hadn’t been high before they left. But then he’d gone to scout ahead. At least, that’s what John thought he’d been doing when 052 up and left.

 _Evidently not._ John struggled to decide on whether to let 052 have it, just ream the young man out, or to take a softer approach. Thing was, he didn’t know the winged man well enough to know which route would best help him and get the info John needed. The first could either make him shut down completely or induce him to spill his guts. The second had a similar scenario; only it would either make John appear weak or more approachable.

 _So nice to have such easy choices._ John gestured Lestrade over. Luckily, the older man seemed to understand what John wanted without John having to spell it out. An extra bonus to having an ex-policeman with him.

Lestrade pulled himself up to his full height. “Right. Where’d you get it? How much did you take?”

“Nowhere,” 052 said, still not looking at either of them. His foot played with the sand, drawing tiny circles in it.

Lestrade growled. “Not good enough, young man. Do you even realize just how stupid this was? You’re being hunted. We’re risking our lives for you. And all you can think about is getting high? That doesn’t fly in my books. People look out for each other.”

052’s wings drooped.

Lestrade pushed on. “Now, tell us where you got it and how much you took.”

052 rolled his shoulders in, played a bit more with the sand, and then peeked up at them. “Moriarty.”

John’s mind froze. “What?”

Lestrade’s face darkened. “You went to Moriarty? I thought that’s who you wanted to escape. And now you just went to him?!”

“No!” 052 spat out, his eyes reflecting panic and hurt. “No…not Moriarty. His…man.”

“A contact?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Woman. Dark hair. Pretty.” 052 straightened. “Dangerous.”

John shook his head. “Then why go to her at all? You had to know she’ll tell Moriarty you came.”

“Needed them.” 052 tugged his arm out of John’s grip and hugged himself. “It hurts.”

“What does?” John asked. Had he missed something? Was 052 injured and John had somehow missed it? John leaned closer to the young man. “What hurts?”

Haunted eyes lifted to stare at him. “Everything.”

John shot a fearful look at Lestrade. The man nodded back and John slowly put his gun down. This seemed like a time where the less aggressive he appeared the better. “What’s wrong? Why does everything hurt?”

052 grabbed his hair with one hand and yanked on it, while with the other he continued to hug himself. “Bad, always bad. He hurts me, and laughs, and screams. And they won’t stop. Nothing stops. I can’t stop it. I see everything and they like it. They want it. I…I….”

052 let out a dry sob. “Make it stop.”

 _Oh, bugger…_ John cussed to himself. _This isn’t good. Really, really not good._

Not only was 052 higher than a kite and emotional because of that, but he was terrified too. He’d panicked at the thought of being recaptured and run off to drown himself in drugs. Shut off reality. John got it. Harry drank for the same reason. But John also knew it wasn’t a permanent solution. It only helped for as long as the high lasted and then you crashed.

He placed a careful hand on 052 elbow. The winged man flinched from him, staring at him with wide, wide eyes. John sighed. “I get it.”

052 narrowed his eyes.

“I do!” John insisted. “I get it. You don’t want to go back to him. He’s hurt you. A lot. You got away, but now he’s found you again. And now you don’t think Lestrade and I will be able to keep you away forever.”

“Moriarty…” 052 shuddered. “Moriarty is smartest.”

“But is he the strongest?” Lestrade asked suddenly.

052 blinked at him. Several times. “What?”

“Is Moriarty the strongest?” Lestrade asked again. “I know you think him the smartest, but maybe that’s all he is. Maybe he’s not that strong and that’s why he has all these men around him. To protect him, because he can’t do it himself. He’s all brains.”

“He’s strong.”

“But. Is. He. The. Strongest?” Lestrade insisted.

052 opened and closed his mouth. His lips pressed into a thin line and his forehead furrowed in thought. “Not sure.”

“And that’s why you need to still trust us,” Lestrade said. The older man settled his backpack on the ground and shuffled closer. “We’ll protect you. But you have to give us something too.”

052 stiffened.

“Not like that,” Lestrade said hurriedly. “I mean, you need to trust we’ll protect you. If you don’t, then you end up doing stuff like this and we’re forced to change our plans.”

052 glanced at John. “Not good.”

John couldn’t help the smile that flickered across his lips. “A bit.”

052’s black wings wilted more until half of them lay on the sand behind him. His lips pressed into a small pout. “Sorry.”

 _Well, that had to hurt his ego, but it’s more than I thought he’d give._ John placed a hand on 052’a shoulder. The young man glanced at it and then him. John smiled. “Thanks.”

Lestrade pressed a hand on the young man’s knee. “How much did you take?”

052 sighed and his posture relaxed into one of slight defeat. “Seven percent.”

 _Oh thank God,_ was the first thought that ran through John head. Yes, the young man was high, but not dangerously so. John’s fear, and probably Lestrade’s as well, had been that this mysterious woman had given 052 an overdose. But seven percent was well within normal ranges. Still didn’t make it right.

_Also means he’ll probably be coming down sooner._

John cracked his backbone as he stood, loosening his aching muscles. “Right. Here’s what we’re doing. First, we get us to a secure building. Any ideas?”

052 nodded.

“Good.” John picked up his gun and gestured for 052 to rise. “Then we’ll get ready for you to crash from this.”

052 refused to look at either of them. “Moriarty will come.”

“And we’ll be ready,” Lestrade said, also getting up and hiking his backpack onto his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”

 

0/0/0/0/0

 

They found an abandoned building without too much trouble. Too much, being a relative term, of course. By that time, 052 was well on his way to crashing from his high. He shook like a leaf in the wind and snapped at them for everything. John and Lestrade took as best they could, Lestrade actually doing better than John in that regard. John supposed it shouldn’t have been so surprising. Lestrade was a former policeman – he’d probably seen this sort of stuff far more than he’d wanted to, thus making the situation easier for him to deal with.

John…John hated seeing the winged man so needy and violent. Brought back more than a few memories of Harry when she drank too much. And Uncle Vernon. But that was neither here nor there. He needed to focus on 052, not himself. Take a page out of Lestrade’s book.

“I’m not sleeping!” 052 shouted. He pushed Lestrade away hard and the older man ended up falling back. John winced when Lestrade’s head whacked the wall. 052 also paused and his anger fled just like that.

“Sorry.”

“No worries, mate,” Lestrade said as he rubbed the back of his head and stood again. Bits of broken plaster dropped off his clothes, but he sent 052 a reassuring smile. “I’ve been through this dance before.”

John inched to 052’s side. “You really do need to sleep. It’ll help. Also, water.”

052 snagged the water bottle from his and took a sip. He glared at the plastic, but sipped again. “Fake water with chemicals.”

“Yeah, not the best, but it’ll do.”

052 promptly threw up on himself and collapsed to the floor. John flew to his side, Lestrade to the other. They held the young man up as he spewed what little he had in his stomach. This was going to be a long night.

Possibly more than one, depending on how addicted 052 was to the stuff.

 

0/0/0/0/0

 

The knock on the doorframe scared John more he’d like to admit. They were in the middle of nowhere. They’d told no one where they were going. As far as anyone knew, they could be halfway to England. So, the firm knock came out of the blue. That, and 052 had just now started to come around after three days of screaming, sweating, and swearing at them both. Lestrade still had bruises on his ribs from 052 last attempt to get away.

 _Right then._ John picked up his gun and pounded on the wall behind him twice. Their signal that something was up and that Lestrade should get ready to bolt with 052. An answering pound reverberated back. Here goes everything.

John snuck to the door and…got the surprise of his life. And then he glared. “You.”

“Ah, not as dimwitted as Moriarty thought,” the dark haired woman teased as she smoothed her tan desert dress. She flipped her maroon scarf over her left shoulder and placed a fair skinned hand on her hip. “Are you just going to leave a girl out here, Doctor?”

“Depends,” John said, narrowing his eyes. “You got any more of those drugs with you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then perhaps I will.”

“Oh, you’re no fun at all, Captain,’ she purred, flicking some sand off her sleeve. “You must learn to lighten up.”

“Leave.”

“Can’t. I have a message for you three and Moriarty insists I deliver it face-to-face. He’s such a stickler for this type of formalities. He’d be most upset if I didn’t perform the letter of his instructions.” She straightened, a bit of emotion flashing through her eyes. “I’m sure, as a gentleman, you wouldn’t want that to happen to me, now would you?”

 _Blast it all._ John waved her in with his gun. “Empty your pockets.”

She sighed dramatically and laid four plastic baggies on the windowsill, white powder filling each. John would bet good money it was heroin. Just what 052 needed right now: more drugs to addle his brain and enhance his fear of this mysterious Moriarty. John shot the slender woman a glare and pointed to a small pot in one corner. “Dump them.”

“Oh really, Doctor, is that absolutely necessary?” Her perfect lips curled into a pretty pout. John steeled himself against their charm.

He pointed to the pot again. “Dump them or you leave now.”

“Fine, fine.” She breezed over and daintily poured the white powder into the pot. Her nose wrinkled at the smell wafting up. John hid a smirk. That’ll teach you.

“I do believe that your chamber pot needs cleaning, Doctor.”

“I think its fine as is myself,” he snarked back, letting a dark smirk form.

She tossed an offended glare his way. “Really, Doctor, one could accuse you of disorderly conduct.”

“How did you find us?”

She gave a soft snort. “I think the better question, Doctor, is how you thought you’d even escaped. He never lost you.”

John let that threat wash over him. Fine, Moriarty knew where they’d been and where they were. That only meant they’d have to up their security, and nothing more. 052 was not getting back into that monster’s hands.

“Your message,” he demanded.

“Of course.” She slid into the back room, pausing briefly to glance at the gun Lestrade pointed at her. She gave him a smile and walked straight up 052. “Hello, Sherlock.”

052 froze in his tracks, his wings snapping around him protectively. “Adler.”

“Oh come now, Sherlock, we’re closer than that.” She ran a hand through his curls and smiled when he stiffened. “Surely, you know who your friends are.”

“Enough,” John spat out. “Deliver your message and leave.”

“Very well, Doctor,” she said and stepped back, her eyes never leaving 05…Sherlock. She folded her hands in front of her, making herself look demure, and cleared her throat. “Come back, Sherly, and I won’t cut them into little pieces. Do that, and I’ll even leave the old woman alone too.”

John sucked in a breath and Sherlock’s eyes widened even as he went pale white. Those lucid eyes scanned her up and down several times and then his whole body sagged. Crumpled in on himself, really, and it broke John’s heart to see the young man looking so defeated. The woman, Adler, gave him a sad smile.

“You really do care for them, don’t you?”

Sherlock’s face darkened. “I’ll come.”

“No you won’t!” Lestrade said just as John put in “No!”

Sherlock blinked at them. “He knows.”

“He always knew, Sher --- Sherlock,” John said, stumbling only a bit at using the young man’s real name. “Moriarty always knew. The only difference now, is you have us now. You’re not alone.”

“Oh, he’s alone, Doctor, “Adler said. “Do not make the mistake in thinking you can defeat Moriarty. He is everywhere and knows everything. He’ll destroy you before you even think of a plan.”

“Let him try,” Lestrade growled.

“Moriarty never tries, my dears,” Alder said with a condescending smile. “He succeeds. Always.”

“Well, not this time,” John retorted. “You delivered your message. Give one return to your boss.”

“Of course.”

“We’re coming.”

Her eyes widened. “My, you are confident. I can see why you called you The Loyal Dog.”

 _Ignore it, Watson. Ignore it._ John took a deep breath in. “Just deliver it.”

“Anything for Sherlock.” She blew the winged man a kiss. “See you soon, dear.”


	6. The First Puzzle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be in a month (just to give myself breathing room).

John closed his eyes tight and shallowed his breath. Sweat soaked his back and beaded across his forehead. The gun in his hands felt as if it were trying to burn his hands off. But that mattered little. What mattered is they’d been found. By what, John couldn’t say. But they’d all three of them felt the invisible eyes watching them for days now. Days leading up to this point, where John had conveniently separated from Lestrade and Sherlock.

 _This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening!_ John refused to believe he’d fallen for such an easy trick. _I’m dreaming. I have to be dreaming._

But the crunch, crunch of approaching steps in the sand didn’t go away.

 _Ten feet back and closing fast._ John grit his teeth and whirled around the house, gun ready. A little girl with deep set, brown eyes and… _Oh please God, no!_ A bomb vest attached to her chest. His hands trembled as he sighted her down the scope of his gun. With all that was going on, the last thing on his mind was the actual war they were fighting. And now it stood in front of him.

“Hey,” he whispered to her. “What’s your name?”

“Avani.”

“What’cha doing, Avani?” he asked. They didn’t usually have girls do this kind of thing. Boys and men were the soldiers, not women folk. Why had that changed? When had it? After this, he just might have to risk a phone call to base, inform them of this new tactic. It could change quite a few things.

The young girl took a deep breath and sent him a wobbly smile. “M-Moriarty says ‘hi’, J-John.”

John flinched. No…No, no, no! How could Moriarty be so cruel? This…this wasn’t even…he shoved his disgust and panic to the back of his mind. Right. Down to business then. Not terrorists, not really, just one man (and his invisible army).

“Did he say anything else?” he asked, not letting his gun lower yet. She might be an innocent, but Moriarty wasn’t and John wouldn’t put it past the man to do something as soon as John lowered his weapon.

Avani nodded, scraggly hair bopping. “But it’s for Greg and Sherly too.”

 _Want to blow us all up in one go, huh?_ John worried the inside of his cheek. That didn’t sound like the Moriarty that Sherlock described though, nor the one that had chased them through the desert all this long. No, that man was obsessed with Sherlock and would do anything to get him back in one piece. _Probably so he can kill him._ Regardless of the less than ideal reasons for Moriarty’s lenience, it fit the mysterious man’s demeanor to a tee.

John lowered his gun and reached a slow hand up to his two-way. It clicked quietly. “Black, this is Medic. We’ve contact. I repeat, we’ve contact.”

Static.

Then: “You sure, Medic?”

“I’m looking at it…her, so yeah.” John struggled to swallow around a dry throat. “Moriarty’s sent us all a message.”

“Roger. We’re on our way.”

John took his hand off. Avani stared up at him, dark eyes solemn. He fought to come up with anything to say to her, but his mind went blank. What did you say to someone in a situation like this? Forget the normal bomb vest situations (and wasn’t that just sad to think, that this was normal here), Moriarty was a league all to himself. Plus, John couldn’t say for sure if this girl was on their side or not. Moriarty could’ve easily gotten her at a young age and trained her for this. John wouldn’t put anything past that man.

Shadows twitched out of the corner of his eye and John clenched his weapon. But only Sherlock and Lestrade stepped up. Both men looked a bit winded and more than a little worried, especially once their eyes landed on Avani. Lestrade’s face drained of all color at that sight.

“Oh,” was all the older man managed to get out.

“Yeah, oh.” John waved them closer. “She’s got a message for us.”

Avani drew herself up, winced (the vest must’ve pinched her), and took a breath. “He says you are getting boring. It’s no fun anymore. So, he’s changing things.”

She took another breath and continued, her accent strong. “You’ve ten minutes to solve the puzzle or this town goes boom. And only Sherly can solve it, or it doesn’t count. One guess.”

And then the small, black box attached to the front of the vest blinked red numbers and started beeping, counting down from ten minutes. The world froze and sped up all at the same time. Bored? Bored! Moriarty was doing because he was bored?! When John found this man he’d enjoy knocking a few teeth out…no, a whole row of teeth.

“What puzzle?” Sherlock said, hunching down and sitting on his heels, elbows on his knees. Lestrade threw the young man a hard look, which Sherlock ignored completely. The winged man gestured with his hand for Avani to speak.

She bit her lower lip. “A man is found dead in a phone booth in a pool of blood. The glass on either end of the phone booth is broken and the phone is hanging. Just outside of the phone booth is a ball. What happened?”

“How old is the man?”

“Thirty.”

Sherlock blinked and nodded. “What kind of ball?”

“Rugby.”

“Worn or new?”

“Both.”

“Dressed up or in sports wear?”

She paused, noticed the vest suddenly, and curled in on herself. “I don’t know…”

“Think, you must – ”

“Enough, Sherlock!” Lestrade snapped. “She doesn’t know.”

“But – ”

“She’s scared, Sherlock. She’s got a bomb vest attached to her!”

Avani whimpered at that, and Lestrade blanched. John shoved them both aside.

“Right. Sherlock, you work on that puzzle. Lestrade, keep an eye out.” John crouched down. “I’ll take a look at this.”

“Moriarty says no touching allowed,” Avani said, backing up quickly.

John held both hands up. “I won’t. Promise. But can I just look at it?”

Her eyebrows came together in a frown. “He didn’t say anything about that.”

“Then can I?”

She nodded, stepping close again.

John focused on the bomb vest inches from his face, rather than on the trembling, little girl it held. She sniffled a bit and refused to look at any of them in the eye. Well, she peeked at Lestrade a few times, and he smiled/grimaced at her, but that almost, really didn’t count. She could very well be trying to see his gun for all John knew. Not that he blamed her if she was choosing that.

“John,” Sherlock whispered from his left.

“I know! I know!” he regretted his harsh tone immediately. Avani’s eyes widened and she flinched back an inch, her hands shaking now too. He deflated. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just…yeah…don’t worry we’ll get you out of here, kay?”

Small, black eyes stared hard into his, too old before their time, too world weary. “There is no need to lie to me, sir. I know I’m going to die.”

Her chin came up high and she straightened her shoulders. “I am ready. Mama and Kilen will be safe. Moriarty promised.”

“And you’ll be safe too,” Lestrade put in firmly. “We’re not leaving you, got it?”

Avani held his gaze for a long minute before she nodded slowly. “Got it.”

John heard Sherlock’s wings flutter and he peered back at the younger man. Lanky arms were wrapped around Sherlock’s torso, as if he were trying to hold himself together somehow, but his eyes darted to and fro, taking in every little detail and compiling it – John was sure – into something resembling a plan. The man was good like that. Could pull things out of thin air and then explain how he got there in such a way that made John feel like an idiot for not seeing it sooner.

“Anything?” he asked Sherlock. The bomb vest beeped steadily on, a bleak reminder that they were on borrowed time, minutes that were rapidly growing smaller with each ticking second. John tried to ignore the red numbers that read 3:40. “What are we missing, Sherlock?”

“Something. Obvious.” Matted curls bounced as Sherlock shook his head. He reached up with one hand and tugged hard on his hair. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Had it been anyone else, John might’ve thought they were insinuating he and Lestrade were the stupid ones, but John knew Sherlock meant himself. It irked the winged man that he couldn’t figure this puzzle out. Scared him even. It meant Moriarty was, again, smarter than him. And that this little girl, if not all of them, would soon die.

“Care to share?” Lestrade asked softly, his earlier anger gone. “Three heads are better than one.”

The dry look that came forth showed just how much Sherlock thought of that idea. Yeah. No confidence in that look whatsoever. Whoever this Moriarty character was, he’d trained Sherlock to trust only his own mind. Figure things out by himself. Oh, Sherlock went with them, held faith they would try to protect him, but use their minds to help him figure out this? Not one bit. He thought them too simple for that. And maybe they were, John admitted begrudgingly. However, they’d never know unless Sherlock opened up to them and told them what he’d gleaned so far.

_Blimely, getting into the Tower of London is easier than this!_

“Sherlock, please,” John said, peeking down at the vest’s lower constructions.

Wings rustled. “He wasn’t murdered.”

“What?” Lestrade said. “But the glass was broken. Someone punched it in.”

“He didn’t say that. He said it was broken.”

“So? Could be either.”

Sherlock growled and turned away from them. “Idiots! Let me think!”

John kicked Lestrade’s boot as he went toward the man. Lestrade glanced down at him, eyes narrowed. John shook his head. “Keep a look out. Let him think.”

Lestrade looked at Avani, some inner struggle flashing across his face, and whirled left, gun ready. Great. That would take some time to smooth over later on. John mentally put it in his growing box of ‘Deal With Later’. It’d be overflowing soon.

“Why does it matter?” Sherlock shouted to the air. “I know he wasn’t murdered. What does it matter how?”

Silence.

Hot breezes shifting the sands beneath their feet.

“Can I have more time?” Sherlock asked loudly.

The vest went dark and John’s heart rose, but then Avani ducked her head and started counting.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven...”

“Sherlock!” Lestrade yelled, throwing his gun to the side and reaching for Avani. She danced away from his seeking hands.

“…five, four, three…”

“He was calling a friend…or a family member!” Sherlock screamed. “He wanted to boast, got too excited, slipped and punched through the glass with his head. Bled to death before he could get help!”

Silence….and then the vest’s locks clicked open. Avani fell to the ground and started crying, hard. Lestrade and John both hurried to rip the vest off her and Lestrade tossed it as far away from them as he could. Avani curled her legs up to her chest and cried into her knees. Lestrade rubbed her back comfortingly.

“It’s okay, sweetie. It’s over. Sherlock saved you.”

 _Thank God for that!_ John sighed. Thank God. They almost hadn’t made it. He didn’t even want to think what Avani’s death would’ve done to them all.

“Come on,” Lestrade said, pulling Avani to her feet. “Let’s get you away from here.”

“But…but…” she stammered.

“What?” John asked. “Did he say not to come with us.”

She shook her head. “No, but he’ll be mad. He wanted Sherlock to – ”

Something zipped past John right cheek, grazed it, and then Avani jerked. A small hole appeared in the middle of her forehead, her eyes widened, and she crumpled into Lestrade’s arms. The older man was screaming her name. Sherlock’s wings were snapped out over them and his eyes darted around. John ran to get Lestrade’s fallen gun and shouted them to get to cover. All the while a strange buzzing noise filled his ears. They’d saved her. They’d solved the puzzle. Why kill Avani now? Why put a sniper on her? She couldn’t be older than nine or ten. Why do that?

They’d solved the puzzle.

Why?


	7. Emotionally Compromised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is a bit OOC, but he did just see a little girl get shot, so I think it's justified. Hope it doesn't feel too out of the realm of believable.

Sherlock hadn’t said a word to either of them for days now. Quite frankly, it was starting to scare John. The man tended towards the quiet side, yes, but John suspected it stemmed from this Moriarty fellow’s ‘training’, not from any natural inclination of the winged man. John could usually see it in Sherlock’s dark eyes, the wish to spout off random facts that somehow all connected together in the end. But now, the lanky man refused to even look at John, much less Lestrade.

His black wings drooped, tips brushing against the cooling sand, and his eyes remained hooded. John glanced down. Sherlock’s hands were fisted tight, making his bones that much more pronounced. His steps jerky, and wavering at best. Tension reeked from the man like an invisible dark cloud.

And John couldn’t think of a single thing to diffuse it. _Does he blame himself for Avani?_

God only knew that John held himself responsible. How had he missed the sniper? There hadn’t been too many buildings surrounding them. Had he been that distracted by the bomb? For that matter, had Sherlock? The man saw everything, and John meant everything. How had Sherlock missed this? Or had he let it happen?

John’s breathing hitched at the thought. Shame filled him. How could he think that? This was the man he’d risked his life, and career, over. But now that the idea had crept in, it wouldn’t leave. Sherlock saw so many things, so many tiny details, that it seemed impossible for the winged man to have missed such a clue. Surely there’d been some misplaced stone. Or a bit of thread stuck on the edge of a roof. Or even a shadow.

 _Yes, let’s just lay the blame at the most convenient doorstep, shall we, John? That’ll fix everything. In fact, let’s make Sherlock God while we’re at it. Let’s condemn him for world hunger and not making it rain here._ John sighed.

He couldn’t do that to Sherlock, easy as it might be. No, the fault lay solely at the feet of one Moriarty. That monster, and he alone, had strapped that bomb to Avani. He had sent her out there to them. He’d give Sherlock the task of figuring out a clue in ten minutes.

Moriarty had given the order for Avani to be shot. Why, John might never know. She’d done her task, hadn’t she? She’d wore the bomb, found them, and gave Sherlock the clues for the riddle. Why shoot her at the very end? It served no purpose, other than to shock and panic them all. Did plot twists mean that much to Moriarty? So much so that he’d kill a little girl to make his game more interesting.

 _Now, that sounds more reasonable than Sherlock letting her get shot._ John nodded to himself. The winged man might be callous and way too honest, but John could tell he did possess a heart. Buried though it was. Way, way deep down…Probably doesn’t even know he has it. John chuckled at the thought and Sherlock gave him a suspicious glare.

John shrugged.

“Right,” Lestrade said, sidling up between them. “Are we seriously going to just play mute with each other? Because, I’ll be honest, it’s getting annoying. We need to plan our next step carefully, not fixate on this.”

“Useless,” Sherlock sniped out, his right hand waving as if to shoo Lestrade’s words away like a particularly irritating fly. “He knows.”

Lestrade ignored him. “Not good enough, Sherlock. Moriarty’s been ahead way too long.”

“Smartest,” Sherlock reminded him coldly.

Lestrade arched an eyebrow. “Not the strongest though. Said so yourself.”

“He has men.”

“And we have you, so we’re even.”

Sherlock blinked at that solid support of his abilities. John doubted Moriarty had done anything close to that. Maybe no one had. They didn’t know how long Sherlock had been kept prisoner by Moriarty. Years? Decades? Perhaps his whole life. Either way, John could say for a fact that Sherlock didn’t know what to do now that Lestrade had stated his emphatic backing.

Question was, what would Sherlock do with that?

“Sherlock,” John ventured. “You’ve got to let us in sometime. You’re the one with the smart brain. Show us what we’re missing.”

“Sentiment.”

“What?” John said, at the same time as Lestrade let out a, “Come again?”

Sherlock scowled at them. “Sentiment clouds the mind. Caring is wrong. You’re wrong. I’m wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong!”

John looked to Lestrade as the older man handed John his weapon.

“Sherlock?” Lestrade said, stepping closer.

The young man jerked back, his ebony wings rearing out with a flutter of feathers and wind. Lestrade braced against the defensive action and then inched forward again. Sherlock growled at him, but Lestrade ignored it. He kept inching closer, until he stood at Sherlock’s side.

“It’s okay to be sad, Sherlock.”

“Sentiment kills!” Sherlock hissed. “Focus on emotions and people die. Avani died!”

Lestrade laid a hand on Sherlock’s trembling shoulder and the winged man crumpled to the ground.

“I killed her,” he choked out. “Didn’t think. Wasn’t fast enough. Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

“Oh Sherlock,” Lestrade breathed, easing his way to his knees. “No. Never think that way, son. It was never your fault.”

“I didn’t save her.”

Yeah, well, neither did we. John thought to himself.

“You…we all did the best we could,” Lestrade insisted, grabbing hold of Sherlock’s arm with both his hands and tugging the man toward him. “You solved that riddle.”

“She died!” Sherlock screamed at him, and John flinched at the raw sorrow laid bare in those words, the aching, bitter need to know why this had happened inferred within. It made John cringe inside.

He’d met soldiers like Sherlock. Tired, burdened men who just wanted to know why nothing they did ever seemed to help. Men who would pick up their guns time and again, but come back from the battlefield even more lifeless than before. And then John would patch their physical wounds, but never their mental or emotional ones. Only for the army to ship them back to England one day, when they became too broken to work out in the field again.

 _What do you tell a man who’s had everything taken from him?_ John wondered. Spent time with the devil and then watched the same monster take yet another innocent life away.

Sherlock trembled as he knelt on the sand. Slowly, his hands came up and round his torso, hugging it as if his body were on the verge of tearing itself apart. His curly head bent low and a keening sound seemed to rip itself from his lips. A man at the end of his limits.

Evidently that was all Lestrade needed to hear.

The grey haired man reached one hand out, his other staying on Sherlock’s arm, and pulled the man toward him. “It will never be your fault, Sherlock.”

Sherlock struggled against the hold. His wings flapped hard, hitting Lestrade several times. The sand around them blew up into a mini storm. John blinked against the sudden assault to his eyes and backed up. But Lestrade didn’t waver, and never let go. Just hung on tighter and pulled Sherlock close.

Eventually, Sherlock stopped, his entire body rigid against Lestrade. John couldn’t tell if Lestrade’s comfort was helping the winged man or scaring him. Did he think Lestrade was trying to trap him? Did he even know that someone could touch him without hurting him? John couldn’t say. He just watched as Lestrade pulled back a bit and nudged Sherlock’s chin up so that he could look into the young man’s eyes.

“Not your fault,” Lestrade said once again. “Never will be.”

Sherlock’s eyes searched Lestrade’s frantically, and then his shoulders slumped. “Not good enough.”

“Moriarty cheated.” Lestrade said, gripping Sherlock’s chin with his fingers. “Understand? He cheated so he could win. That’s not being smarter, Sherlock, that’s being a sore loser. He can’t stand that you won against him.”

“Smart.”

“No, stupid.” Lestrade shifted his position. “It means we’ve found a weakness. He’ll do anything to win, so if we make him desperate enough he’ll start taking extreme measures. Do things that aren’t safe or reasonable. Demand more of his men. It’ll break him, Sherlock.”

Sherlock blinked at that. His eyes got that vacant look, the one that meant he was retreating into his mind to really think, then they closed completely. Lestrade let go of his chin and settled back on his haunches, glancing back at John. Worry flashed across his face.

“Not sure how he’ll be searching around in his head, mate.”

“He’s got a lot to sort through,” John admitted, scanning the area around them. Sand dunes as far as the eye could see. “Should we set up camp?”

“Probably.” Lestrade stretched his arms and twisted, cracking his back.

“I’ll get some bars out, for when he comes around again.”

“Lord knows he needs more meat on his bones, regardless that it’s transport.”

John grinned despite himself. “Right. I’ll take first watch then. You get some sleep.”

“Wake me in a few then,” Lestrade said, flopping backwards next to Sherlock and crossing his legs. He rested his gun across his chest (they never knew when an attack might come) and closed his eyes. John stood, glanced once at Sherlock’s blank face, and moved to the nearest dune to keep watch.


	8. Just Around The Bend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update should be in May.
> 
> Warnings: Brief descriptions of a bullet wound happening, and Moriarty being his creepy self. Nothing pass PG13 though, I think.

Lestrade huffed, and John nearly pointed his weapon at him, his thoughts jumbled so badly he could barely focus on anything…other than the fact that they were being hunted and the numerous sand dunes. Kind of mesmerizing, those sands. Dangerous, Demmock told them. They could lure a soldier into complacency just by existing. John shook his head and tightened his grip on his gun, which he’d only just noticed was somewhat lax.

 _Gotta stop daydreaming._ John glanced at Lestrade. “You think they got someone on us?”

“Maybe.” Lestrade licked his cracked lips. “They’d be stupid not to try, at least. Gives me the willies, not knowing, you know?”

“Yeah.” John blew out an even breath. “But wouldn’t Sherlock have seen them?”

Lestrade snorted. “For all we know, they’ve got more people like him, just different. Probably some lizard chameleon freak.”

John paused and turned to Lestrade. “Sherlock’s not a freak.”

“Of course not!” Lestrade spluttered. “I didn’t…you know I would never…now see here John, I like Sherlock as much as – ”

John didn’t get to find out what Lestrade was going to say, though he’d an inclination. A strange buzzing sound zipped close. John stiffened. Bullet. Then the pain hit.

Hard.

His right shoulder burned as his mind whited out and he screamed, grabbing his right shoulder. Fire blast through him and he went down, gun falling from his limp hands. Lestrade scrambled over while still trying to cover them both with his own gun. Warm blood ran over John hand and down his side, seeming to scald him.

He couldn’t breathe.

Nothing.

No air would come to him! John tried to tell Lestrade the danger he was in, but couldn’t get enough oxygen to complete the words of help. His mind started to panic.

“John! John! How bad is it! John!” the blurred image of Lestrade looked up. “Sherlock!”

But the older man needn’t have yelled. Sherlock landed not two seconds later, black wings curling round them all. Something was clapping loudly nearby, like giant hands applauding them. It got closer and closer. Everything got fuzzier and thinner, grey creeping in the sides of his vision.

He still couldn’t breathe right. Only thin wisps were getting through now. Not enough to warn them he needed help.

“John!” he heard Sherlock yell. Someone pushed him back and he fell onto the hot sand. His back arched as he screamed again. Someone leaned over him, and John barely got in Sherlock’s wide, panicked eyes before his vision went black.

__

_ **0/0/0/0/0** _

 

“Joooohn,” a voice cooed from the black. “Wakey, wakey, Johnny boooy!”

John resolutely ignored the voice and snuggled deeper into the warmth of the ink around him. He hadn’t had this sort of tranquility in a while. Not since before he went to Iraq…Iraq! John knocked the darkness back a bit. He’d been in the desert. With Lestrade and…someone…why’d they been in the desert? What was their mission? Had they been compromised?

He needed to find out.

“That’s it Johnny,” the voice said now. “You’re missing all the fun.”

Fun? What fun? John struggled to remember, but it wouldn’t come. He stifled a groan. He’d have to leave this calm to find out. He really didn’t want to, but, then, a soldier couldn’t always do what he wanted, now could he?

That fact established, John attempted to push the darkness away.

He succeeded the third try.

An ugly maroon ceiling, splattered with mold and peeling paint, met his eyes. Bits of the paint waved as a fan blew air at them. The plastic fan rotated back and forth like a shaking bobble-head. It did sort of look like a pug dog, or maybe the prime minister. The black spot in the middle was definitely a nose.

 _Okay, I’m out of it._ John blinked hard and noticed someone was standing beside him. He forced his tired, achy muscles to turn his head to them.

A young man – maybe in his early thirties? – grinned over at him. Lips curled up higher when he saw John focusing on him. His eyes practically sparkled with delight and he clapped his hands like a little kid. “Oh good, you’re awake! I did so worry Bastion had killed you.”

“B-Bastion?” John croaked out and winced when his dry throat protested the action. He tried to rub it, but found his hands wouldn’t move. Alarm burst through him and he jerked his hands up. His wrists were restrained by, what felt like, handcuffs.

Great.

John made his body relax. He needed a plan, so panicking was out.

“Don’t worry, Johnny boy,” the man said, patting John’s head. “I gave him a stern talking to when you all got back. He knows not to do it again.”

But John’s mind froze on only one part of that sentence. _You all? Lestrade! Sherlock!_

It came rushing back with the speed of an avalanche.

They’d been attacked. Or, rather, he’d been shot. Lestrade and Sherlock had freaked out, which wasn’t that surprising – John had been a bit freaked himself, though the blood loss had muted the fact. Something had been coming towards them. A helicopter, if John’s memory was accurate.

And then nothing.

He’d woken up here. With this man, who claimed his subordinate had shot John. And tied him to a table of some sort. John scanned the man up and down. An expensive grey suit coat went with matching pants. A blue tie completed the get up. His hair, short and black, was done to perfection. Not army. Didn’t fit their MO…or budget, for that matter.

That left one person.

“Where are they, Moriarty?” John demanded, just keeping his tone just on this side of civil. No need to rock the boat too much just yet. He needed to scope out this man first, before he made any big moves.

“Ooo! Sherly was right!” Moriarty squealed – actually squealed. “You are smarter than you look. I’m so happy. It’ll make The Game so much more interesting.”

“Where are they?” John asked again.

Moriarty’s lip jutted out and he folded his arms. “Now you’re just being boring, John. Of course they’re all right. I can’t have a game without my pieces, now can I?”

“Bit hard.”

“Exactly!” Moriarty beamed at him again and leaned down on the table, so that he was inches from John’s face. Peppermint breath washed over John. “I knew you’d understand. The old frog didn’t. Kept insisting I let you go. That I’d be caught. Silly. I’m the best. No one can outdo me. Everyone knows that.”

Something nasty crept into Moriarty’s eyes then.

“Cept Sherly. He believes he’s better than me.” Moriarty’s gaze flicked over to John’s. “You think it too, don’t you, Johnny boy? You think Sherlock is smarter than me.”

John kept his opinion to himself.

Moriarty huffed and straightened. “I can hear you thinking, John. You’re practically shouting ‘yes’.”

 _Well then, if he’s going to play it that way. Might as well accommodate him._ John hardened his look. “He is smarter than you.”

“No he’s not!” Moriarty screamed, slamming his palms on the metal whatever John lay on. “I am the best! Everyone else knows it. I showed them. I…I showed them…Of course!”

Moriarty chuckled. “Mory, Mory, of course. Show them. Show, don’t tell.”

 _Oh boy._ John watched as Moriarty pulled out a cell phone from his pocket and hit a speed dial.

“Hey, Bastion, could you bring them in?” His face darkened. “Of course I mean now! Why wouldn’t I mean now? Don’t be stupid. You know what happens to stupid people. Oh good. Right. You were there. Good. Oh. Yes, bring those too. See? You’re using your brain now, Bastion.”

He hung up and smiled down at John. “Bastion’s good, he just needs reminding every once in a while. Fire up those tiny brain cells, you know?”

John glared, even as his mind raced. The man beside him was insane. His very actions showed it. His words confirmed it. Also, prideful. To the point where nothing else mattered except being the best. They could use that.

But not right away.

_This is going to hurt._


	9. Coming Storm

Minutes stretch on as Moriarty and John waited for ‘Bastion’.

 _Is that really the man’s name?_ John wondered. It didn’t really matter in the long run, what Moriarty’s henchman called himself. He was on this madman’s side, so that labeled him as dangerous and ‘to be eliminated’. Though….termination would be a bit hard now, considering John’s hands and feet were latched by handcuffs to some sort of table. Of course, that only brought up images of laboratory tests, himself being the experiment.

Lovely.  

The cheshire cat grin that ate across Moriarty’s face did little to calm John’s fears. This would not be fun, not in the least. He’d be baiting and coaxing this man into losing his temper, into giving control back over to Sherlock, in the near future. But for all that to happen, Moriarty would need to be distracted. And what better way than to make said man focus on breaking John?

Because who else would Moriarty blame for Sherlock’s newfound strength of will?

 _Just need to make sure he doesn’t suspect it….or, if he does, to see it as a game of wits; him against Sherlock. Not him against us._ A shiver went through John, and he couldn’t tell if it was from fear or the frigid temperatures in the room.

The door to John’s left rattled and swung open, stopping just inches from banging against the peeling wall. A tall man’s silhouette lined the doorway. Then he moved in and John got a better look at, who he assumed to be, the man who’d shot him down. Military cut hair; though a bit curly though at the ends, as if the soldier hadn’t had time to keep up with cutting it. Black shirt and cargo pants, simple and worn multiple times. A large hunting knife, the kind you’d expect an African big-game hunter to wear, hung, strapped to his belt. He had some kind of leather rope coiled around his left hand, trailing behind the man into the hallway.

Sherlock would be proud of John’s observations. A pang ran through John at that thought. Where was Sherlock? Hadn’t Moriarty asked for them to be brought? Had something gone wrong? If so, what? If not, then why the suspense?

Moriarty clapped his hands like a little kid.

“Goodie, you’re here, Bastion!” the younger man crowed.

A slight (almost unnoticeable) twitch went through the other man’s eye. Of course, Moriarty noticed it anyway. “Aww, don’t be that way, Bastion. You know I have only the best of intentions towards you. Don’t you?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Your tone does nothing to reassure me.” There was a slight dangerous edge to that statement. The kind that promise pain, too much of it.

‘Bastion’ gave a curt nod. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re not still…” Moriarty gave an exaggerated sigh. “….you are. But Baaastionnn! I just couldn’t let it go. You know Morstan was only supposed to clip him, not shoot him in the shoulder. You’re in charge of her!”

“Yes, sir.”

“I couldn’t very well _hit_ her! Well, I could, but it’d be bad for business, hitting woman. Killing them, yes, but no hitting. And I couldn’t kill her over this. She still has her uses.” Moriarty’s lip jutted out when ‘Bastion’ said nothing to all this. “I hate you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Moriarty groaned, rolling his eyes. “You’re no fun right now. Just bring them in.”

Bastion moved to the side and tugged hard on the leather rope. A lanky, black figure crashed on their hands and knees at the soldier’s feet. Feathered wings immediately gave away the other person’s identity.

Sherlock.

How was it possible for someone to go from semi-healthy to gaunt overnight? John might never figure out. Evidently, it could happen though, seeing as Sherlock seemed to have lost ten pounds; his eyes sunken in and haunted, shoulders hunched inward, and hands skeletal. But then….maybe John had been unconscious longer than he thought. After all, Moriarty hadn’t _said_ how much time had passed between him getting shot and John waking up.

A shot of pure anger jolted through John at the sight of the dog’s collar that encircled Sherlock’s throat. The leather rope in Bastion’s hand looped around the abhorred thing, and only made John angrier. Bad enough that Moriarty didn’t feed or care for Sherlock, but now he degraded him by treating the young man like an animal for show.

John’s hands curled into fists, his nails biting into his palms. _How dare he do that to Sherlock!_

A trim, lean woman frog-marched Lestrade into the room not a second later. Her blonde hair clung to her neck, short and precise. A cold, hard look gleamed in her pale eyes as she glanced over at John. In another life, John might’ve been attracted to the danger she exuded, to the raw beauty in her. Not now though. He could never be, not after all this.

She pushed Lestrade forward and the older man stumbled into the wall, his hands tied behind him.  

“Morstan,” Moriarty said, eyeing the woman as if he might spit on her. Which, given how Moriarty had acted so far, might not be that unbelievable. John could just see the little man spitting in this woman’s face, just to get a reaction (and then prey on it).  

“Sir.” She stepped closer, shoes clicking against the concrete (maybe, John couldn’t exactly see down, so it could be tiled _or_ concrete) floor. “I apologize for earlier. It will never happen again.”

“Good. Because otherwise I will skin you alive, and then give you back to your former employers, rolled in salt. Am I understood?” Moriarty clasped his hands behind his back and smiled beatifically at her.

“Yes, sir.”

“Right. Shall we?” Moriarty rubbed his hands and strode over to Sherlock, bending down a little. “Sherrrrlyyy! Wakey, wakey. Time to play.”

Dark eyes peered up at Moriarty through greasy hair.

“Oh, come now, Sherly. Don’t look at me like that.” Moriarty flashed his teeth like a shark going in for the kill. “I told you not to try it, but you just had to go out into the big, bad world and test me. And see what happened? You got these two men hurt.”

Sherlock hunched inward.

“I expect an answer,” Moriarty hissed, grabbing a handful of Sherlock’s hair and yanking the young man’s head back. A grimace raced across Sherlock’s face, but he did nothing to stop the other. It pained John to see his winged friend so cowed into submission.

“Stop it,” he yelled, straining against his bonds.

“Leave him alone!” Lestrade shouted at the same time, surging away from the wall. He didn’t get far, as Moran darted forward and caught his arm. The older man struggled against her, lashing out with a foot, but she merely danced out of reach a few feet to the left. She threw him down to the floor, on his knees, and pushed him against the granite wall. Lestrade grimaced when she pulled his bound hands up his back, probably almost dislocating them.

But her message got through loud and clear, and Lestrade stopped fighting her. The older man settled for glaring at both her and Moriarty.

Moriarty smirked at the display and carelessly jerked Sherlock’s head back and forth a bit. “Worried, Lieutenant?”

“No, but you should be,” John put in before Lestrade could answer. As he hoped, Moriarty turned to him. A frown grew as the volatile man studied him. It reminded him of Sherlock’s searching gaze, and John realized that winged man probably learned the skill from Moriarty. John swallowed and raised an eyebrow. “Having trouble?”

“Of course not!” Moriarty spat. “Reading you is almost as boring as breathing. Useless. You want to try and make me focus on you, so as to spare Sherly here anymore pain. Pitiful. Sentiment will get you nowhere, Johnny boy. Isn’t that right, Sherly?”

Moriarty shook Sherlock’s head harder at that last one.

The winged man glanced over at John, his face unreadable. It was times like this and John wished he had a bit of the young man’s skill at reading people. As it was, John could only worry about what was going through the winged man’s mind right now. He tried to send Sherlock a message with his eyes. _Don’t give up!_ The winged man looked down. “Yes.”

 _Yes, to Moriarty’s question or my message?_ John wondered. Either way, Moriarty took it as the first one.

“See? Even he’s smart enough to know the truth. I’m the best.” Moriarty paused. “But you’ve made him think he can beat me, and that simply won’t do, Johnny. Not one bit. I’m afraid, you’re going to have to go. Both of you.”

At that, Sherlock jolted to life. “No!”

“Aww, does that worry you, Sherly?” Moriarty snickered and thrust his face into Sherlock’s. “Good. I want you to remember what happens when you try and think for yourself. And if that doesn’t make it through your thick head, I can always go over and pick up that sweet, little landlady, Mrs. Hudson. I’m sure she can help you see things in a new light.”

Sherlock’s face scrunched up, as if he might cry or scream, and then he deflated, sagging to the floor in a slump of despair. Moriarty straightened and let go of Sherlock’s hair. He patted the winged man on the head and then ruffled his dark hair. Lestrade trembled so much John thought he might actually explode under the force of his own anger.

Moriarty danced over to John again, uncannily light steps compared to the weight of evil that seeped from his manic grin. “Now then, before we begin, I just want it known that I bear you no ill will, John. You’re just an unfortunate side effect.”

“Well, seeing as we’re being honest and all,” John grit out. “I bear you a lot of ill will.”

“I know.”

“Oh, and you’re a right bastard.”

Moriarty slapped him. “Language, John. We’re in the presence of an impressionable, young man right now. I don’t want him picking up any bad habits from you.”

Cheek stinging, John glared at him. “Bastard.”

“I’d take care, Johnny boy. You won’t like me angry.”

John made himself snort, despite the fear constricting in his gut. “Or what? You’ll kill me? Torture me? Kinda late to threaten that, when you’ve already told us you’re going to do it anyway.”

“But would you feel so confident if I did that to Sherlock?”

 _No!_ John’s insides froze. “You need him.”

“Not for quite some time.” Moriarty inspected his nails. “You’ve tainted him, and I’ll need to retrain those silly notions out of his head. It’ll take at least a month. A bit of damage will only speed things up.”

Moriarty tilted his head to the side. “Yes…yes, I like that! Good. It’s decided then! Bastion! Get Room 3 ready. Morstan, go take these two back. I’ve a few rules to go over with the dear doctor over here. Can’t have him spoiling the Game.”

Bastion handed Morstan Sherlock’s lead and marched out without a backward glance. Morstan studied them all before she left, but she didn’t say anything. Lestrade sent John a panicked look as he was dragged out. Sherlock…Sherlock somehow perfected his impression of a kicked puppy even more.

The door closed with a terrible, final _click_.

“Now then, John,” Moriarty said, stepping close and wrapping a hand around John’s throat. “Rule number one. I am god here. And you will do what I say.”

“Never.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Moriarty said with a delight smirk. He put both hands around John’s throat, and squeezed. “I’ve been _so_ bored lately, John.”

John made his body go limp, knowing that to clench his muscles would only use up his oxygen faster. It didn’t stop the panic growing in his body though. The primal _air, I need air! dying!_ animal instincts roaring to life as his mouth involuntarily opened.   

“I’m so glad you decided to help Sherlock.” Moriarty pressed harder as he leaned close to John’s ear. “I will enjoy ripping that hope out of him again.”


	10. Now You See Me

_Ow! Ow! OW!_ Hot lava burned underneath John’s cheek. His senses pushed outward and John opened his gummy eyes. He blinked at the dark mounds of sand inches from his face. Bits of the grains blew into his eyes and inflamed them. Tears welled up – the body’s automatic defense – and John struggled to think about getting up.

Why was he outside?

Heavy orange and purple streaked the sky above him. He, again, toyed with getting up, but the scorching temperature of the ground actually helped dull what Moriarty had done to him. It some weird way it loosened muscles and lulled him into closing his eyes.

_No, that’s bad! Can’t go to sleep._

But he gave into the lure anyway.

When he opened his eyes again, the sky was black. Not even stars twinkled.

 _Odd._ But he didn’t have time to ponder it. He needed to know his current situation and lying about wouldn’t help him.

 _Time to face the music, John._ He pushed up and had to bite his tongue. _Bloody Nora!_

His shoulder burned reminiscent to the time he’d got bit by those fire ants, and John found himself lying on his stomach, his left arm painfully twisted underneath him. Had he just been dumped on the ground, with no consideration at all? He blinked. Sounded like something this Moriarty character would do, actually. It also explained the pounding headache. Must’ve hit his head hard when he landed, not that he remembered the transfer.

 

0/0/0/0/0

_It hurt. Bloody Nora, it hurt. But John wouldn’t give Moriarty the satisfaction of screaming. The criminal had more than enough power. John wouldn’t let him have this too._

0/0/0/0/0

 

Careful of the mounting dizziness pushing to the front of his forehead, John pushed himself up, wincing at the pins and needles affect this caused in his arm. Bugger. He couldn’t feel three of his fingers, and closer inspection – hindered by his slightly blurred vision – found them looking a bit pudgy. Great. They’d lost enough blood to swell. He experimented to see if they were a lost cause, stifling his worry, and they just barely twitched.

Good.

He hadn’t been out long enough to permanently damage them.

John checked his surroundings and jerked. He was surrounded by concrete walls that stretch out and turned into intersections. A concrete maze? He’d been put in a concrete maze? Lestrade lay only a few feet away, one of his ankles clasped in an iron manacle, attached to the floor. Really? Who used manacles anymore? Oh, right, psycho nutcases like Moriarty. He probably thought it gave ‘The Game’ ambience, or some other weird nonsense. John looked to his own feet and found his right ankle also entrapped.

Wonderful.

Just what they needed.

Whatever plans Moriarty had for chains and a giant maze outside did not spell out anything good for them.

_Better than torture though._

John peered out into the long passage in front of him. He could just make out a black bundle of clothes huddled against one side of the concrete walls. Looming wings encircled the man. Sherlock. It had to be. Unless Moriarty had more than one winged experiment running around. Which, granted, John wouldn’t put past him. But that didn’t seem like something that would factor into Moriarty’s plans.

 _Least, not yet._ John pressed a hand to his temple. He really needed to come up with a plan, but his vision kept fading in and out, and Lestrade was out cold for now. Sherlock…Sherlock didn’t seem to be in any position to talk – not if his deliberate turning away was any indication.

 _I’ve dealt with worse._ Though John couldn’t think of any such situation at the moment.

 ** _“Wakey, wakey, boys!”_** Moriarty’s voice sing-songed through a speaker John hadn’t noticed until just then. **_“Time to start phase one.”_**

Sherlock shuddered, but made no other answer. Lestrade groaned and rolled over. John watched as the older man stiffened, scanned his surroundings, and then focused on John. He raised a greying eyebrow. John shrugged and pointed with his thumb to the speaker.

 ** _“Goodie, you’re all awake,”_** Moriarty chirped. **_“Right, shall we start? Good? Good. So, Sherly, I’ve had a stroke of brilliance – which shouldn’t come as any surprise – and decided to try out this little beauty. Do you like her?”_**

John’s fear of Moriarty went up a tiny notch, unwillingly, despite how much he wanted to squish it back down. That voice was truly mad. It hinted towards a depravity John couldn’t imagine, and didn’t want to experience firsthand.

 ** _“But enough about me, this is your lesson, after all.”_** A dramatic pause. **_“Aren’t you going to ask what the lesson is, John?”_**

 _Me? Why ask me?_ But John kept his mouth shut and narrowed his eyes. He wouldn’t give Moriarty the satisfaction of feeding the mad man his lines.

 ** _“So boring,”_** Moriarty groaned. **_“But never fear, I will remedy that!”_**

Something hissed above them and suddenly a large stone slammed inches from John’s leg. He yelped and backed away into the rock. He could hear Lestrade scrambling as well. The stone stood an impressive ten feet high and – John glanced around it – he honestly couldn’t say how wide. He couldn’t see Lestrade anymore, so…big.

 _Where did it come from?_ John craned his neck up, but only black sky met him. Where had the rock fallen from? How?

“No!” Sherlock darted forward, only to be abruptly stopped by the collar around his neck. The thing attached to a one of the walls by a large hook. Poor Sherlock struggled with frantic fingers to claw the collar off. Then he switched to tugging against the hook on the wall. Nothing for it. The blasted collar stayed on regardless.

By this time, a thin layer of sweat coated John’s neck. What did all this mean? What “Game” had Moriarty planned for them all?  

 ** _“Now, now, Sherly, no rushing. I have to explain the rules first,”_** Moriarty crooned, and John could just imagine the twit shaking a finger at them all.

“Then get on with it already,” John yelled, clenching his hands into fists.

 ** _“Well, aren’t we just pushy? Nervous?”_** Moriarty chuckled. **_“The rules are simple really, Sherly. I’m going to let them go, then you have to get them to the end of the maze before my dogs get them.”_**

That sounded way too simple for Moriarty. There had to be a twist somewhere.

 ** _“Then we’ll move on to phase two.”_** Moriarty chuckled. **_“Actually, we’ll go on regardless if they live, but having them alive will make phase two so much more interesting. So do try and get at least one of them out in time, Sherly.”_**

Sherlock strained against his collar and growled at the speaker.

 ** _“Don’t waste time,”_** Moriarty sang out. **_“I’ve given you ten minutes before the dogs are loosed. Oh, this is so exciting, Bastion! I told you – ”_**  

 But whatever he told Bastion was lost, because the speaker turned off abruptly. Sherlock’s collar clicked off at the same time John’s manacle did. No one moved for a second. Then:

“John? You okay?” Lestrade asked from around the stone.

“Fine.” John rubbed his ankle. Bruised but doable. “You?”

“Good.” Lestrade appeared and hunched down. He scanned John before glancing over at Sherlock. “Sherlock, can you come here? We need to plan this.”

The winged man dashed to them, nails scraping against the concrete, and John winced as he nearly crashed into Lestrade. But if Lestrade felt any hesitation or discomfort at the near collision, he didn’t let it show. No, he just reached over, slowly, and patted Sherlock on the knee.

“Easy, Sherlock. We’ve got ten minutes. Let’s make good use of them.”

Sherlock let out a strangled sob as he looked away. “Smarter.”

“No, Sherlock,” John said, scooting until he was close to the young man. He ignored the fact that the seconds were ticking away. Lestrade nodded for John to continue.

“He’s not smarter, Sherlock.” John said firmly.

 ** _“Wrong again,”_** Moriarty’s voice taunted suddenly.

“Ignore him, Sherlock,” John said, glaring at the speaker. “He’s just trying to get inside your head.”

 ** _“It’s working,”_** Moriarty sung. **_“See? See that look! Even Sherly knows the truth. I. Am. Smarter. He knows it. I know it. And soon, Johnny boy, you will too.”_**

“Shut it,” Lestrade suddenly barked.

John blinked at the unexpected shout. Since when did Lestrade let his temper show? Heaven’s sake, the man had the patience of a saint. He put up with all of Anderson’s whining every day. Was this really the breaking point for the older man? John dearly hoped not. He didn’t need two panicking teammates.

“Greg –” John started, inching away from Sherlock.

Lestrade waved a hand at him, focusing hard on the speaker. “You think you’re so bloody smart. Some great shadow that we’re all going to cower before, don’t you? But you’re wrong.” Lestrade sat straighter. “I was a former DI at the MET. John, here, is the best medic around. And Sherlock is not only a genius, he has wings. We’re going to beat you, Moriarty, right where it counts. Your pride.”

**_“I’m trembling in my boots, really I am. Such an amazing speech, Greggo. Did you think of it yourself? Probably. Only an idiot would be so sentimental.”_ **

A deliberate pause.

**_“You see, Sherlock? This is what emotions get you. Stupidity. The side of the angels will always be delusional, because of that. Caring isn’t an advantage, Sherly, it’s a bullet wound.”_ **

But the droop in Sherlock’s wings had lifted sometime during Lestrade’s speech, as had his trembling. Now a determined gleam rose in those dark eyes. Sitting up, Sherlock glared at the top of the maze and then leaped high into the air, his wings flapping wildly. He scrambled, clawing at the edges of the walls, and made it to the top of one. There, the young man set about sniffing and looking around every which way.

John let him scout. “That was some speech, Greg. You been holding out on me?”

Lestrade grinned. “There’s a reason I was DI, you know. Got a way with words. Could pull people together, even if they hated each other. MET loved that. I hated it. Felt mushy, you know? But I figured I might as well put it to good use here.”

“Worked for Sherlock,” John said. The winged man probably hadn’t ever had encouragement a day in his life. Water to a man dying in the desert.

Lestrade snorted. “Right, let’s see if we can do anything on our end. I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy, and it’s creeping me out.”

 John grinned. Trust Lestrade to be embarrassed about encouraging others. He found a stray stick and tested its strength against the rock. Good enough to maybe hold up against attacking dogs. Dogs….

“Greg,” John hissed as a horrid idea came to him.

“What?”

“Ten minutes.”

Lestrade cursed. “I didn’t check my watch. You think it’s passed?”

“Hard to say.” John glanced up at Sherlock. The winged man was bolt straight now, staring hard to the right. “But Moriarty strikes me as the type of guy to crow.”

“So, no bragging might be good then.”

“Exactly.”

“Or he could’ve escalated and switched his MO.”

John threw a small glare at Lestrade. “Remind me why they made you DI again.”

“My sunny personality, of course.” Lestrade grinned.

A flurry of feathers and humid air, and Sherlock was on the ground again. He signaled them over.

“Which way?” John asked.

“Four right, two left, six right, five back, one left,” Sherlock said in a rush.

It took a moment for that process. “You saw all that?”

“Yes.” Sherlock seemed to hunch back as he said that.

“Incredible.” John shook his head. “You memorized that all. Brilliant.”

Sherlock blinked. “Good?”

“Very good,” Lestrade answer.

John nodded his agreement.

 ** _“I changed my miiind!”_** Moriarty shouted. **_“Dogs are coming now. You were being boring.”_**

“Bastard!”

**_“Run, run, ruuuun!”_ **

The baying of dogs sounded close by. John jumped to his feet seconds before Lestrade. He gripped his stick hard. “Lead on, Sherlock!”

The winged man darted forward, a streak of black against the dimly lit concrete. Feathers fluttered down behind him. John blinked, a little taken aback, and rushed after him. Lestrade not far behind. They ran round three right corners, John nearly falling flat on his face because of a sudden crack in the concrete. He righted himself and then turned down a left passage.

All the while, the dogs barking was getting closer and closer.

“Bloody well should’ve known he’d cheat,” Lestrade gasped beside him.

John grunted in response, his lungs burning too much to talk. He pumped his legs faster. He couldn’t be the reason they failed. That Sherlock got beaten by Moriarty. No. He’d run until he burst, if need be. They’d win! Sherlock’s wings rubbed against the walls. A few feathers snapped off and John winced.

They were leaving a very obvious path for the dogs.

Suddenly, Sherlock stopped. John nearly ran past him. Lestrade did.

“What?” Lestrade asked, looking back, chest heaving. “Why’d you stop?”

“Go,” Sherlock said, pushing John forward. “I fight them.”

“What? No!” John planted his feet. “You will do no such thing. Who knows what kind of mutant dogs he’s set loose. You’re coming with. Plus, we didn’t memorize the way. We need you.”

“Go left.” Sherlock pushed him again. “At end.”

“We’re that close?” Lestrade glanced that way. “Then why not take a stand there?”

“Get hurt.” Sherlock gestured to them both. “Bad.”

“No.” John placed a hand on the vibrating shoulder. It flinched under his touch. “We’re not leaving you, Sherlock.”

“We’re all getting through this,” Lestrade put in. “Together.”

“So get your butt into gear and run,” John ended, pulling at the young man’s arm.

Sherlock stared at both of them and then whirled around to punch a dog that somehow got ahead of the others. It stood a good eight feet on its hind legs. Foam slathered its jaws and black filled the place where its eyes should’ve been. It lunged at Sherlock, who only smacked it down again and then broke its neck. Casually, like he’d done this before and it meant nothing to him. But then Sherlock looked back at them and John could see the terror in his eyes. Screaming for all this to stop, to just stop and let him go.

John nodded and they all run to the end of the passage. A dead end. Sherlock blinked at it.

“What the…?” Lestrade said.

Another wall slammed up behind them, trapping them in the passage. Sherlock jumped into the air, but something crackled and Sherlock jerked about before falling to the ground again. An invisible fence. No….John narrowed his eyes.

An electric net.  

Bloody great. Just what they needed right now.

John hurried over to the quivering form on the ground and checked his pulse.

 ** _“Whoops! Sorry. I’m sooo changeable.”_** Moriarty purred. **_“This is the second part, Sherly. You gotta choose which one you want to live._**

The dogs were scratching on the other side of the wall on their left.

 ** _“Kill the other and then I’ll open the wall. Your choice, Sherly. But remember…”_** Moriarty laughed. **_“Time’s a-runnin’ away.”_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It finally came! It took FOREVER for this chapter to reveal itself to me. Don't ask me why, it just did. I hope it lives up to all of your expectations. Your patience with me, during the wait, was so appreciated. The next update...*hides*...will either be late October (at best) or November (at worst). It all depends on my work schedule and such, which is very hectic.
> 
> Reviews are life people. Let me know what you wanna see in the next chapter.


	11. I Spy

Previously:

_Another wall slammed up behind them, trapping them in the passage. Sherlock jumped into the air, but something crackled and Sherlock jerked about before falling to the ground again. An invisible fence. No….John narrowed his eyes._

_An electric net._

_Bloody great. Just what they needed right now._

_John hurried over to the quivering form on the ground and checked his pulse._

_**“Whoops! Sorry. I’m sooo changeable.”** Moriarty purred. **“This is the second part, Sherly. You gotta choose which one you want to live.**_

_The dogs were scratching on the other side of the wall on their left._

_**“Kill the other and then I’ll open the wall. Your choice, Sherly. But remember…” Moriarty laughed. “Time’s a-runnin’ away.”** _

0/0/0/0

“No!” Sherlock screamed. His dark wings spread out violently, black tips brushing against the walls. John almost feared he might try and jump for the electric net again, and stepped forward to grab him from doing such an idiotic thing. Which, of course, was when _Lestrade_ decided to nab Sherlock’s arm – the older man probably thought their young companion might hurt himself too. Needless to say, that didn’t go over well.

Sherlock yanked his arm back, while using his left wing to launch Lestrade into the wall.

Self-defensive move, nothing else. John had seen it a hundred times with war prisoners. Couldn’t stand to have anyone touch them, especially not during one of their meltdowns. Stupid, stupid. He had a medical degree, for heaven’s sake! He knew this stuff. Why did his mind decide, now, to forget it all?

_Crunch!_

Lestrade’s head connected with the stone. Snapped back and slammed into it. And then the man slide to the ground in a messy heap. A small trail of blood followed him down on the wall, leaving a crimson smear on the brutal concrete.

John throat constricted.

 _No._ Came to mind first. Followed quickly by: _Greg._

Sherlock froze, wings snapping in tight, and stared with wide, wide eyes. “G-Greg?”

 ** _“Ooooo! Sherly!”_** Moriarty sang over the speakers. **_“You made your choice so quickly.”_**

John’s legs unlocked. “Greg!”

He rushed over, as best his injured ribs would let him, and fell to his knees beside Lestrade. White light flashed across his eyes, his hearing went thin, burning pain ran all up his sides at the too-sudden motion. When the high-pitched ringing stopped and his sight came back, John pushed that all aside and felt Greg’s neck with two fingers.

Please, please….Yes! A strong, though jumpy, heartbeat throbbed against his fingers tips. John closed his eyes. _Thank God…._

“He’s…” John stopped. Moriarty wanted one of them dead. Demanded it, waited in anticipation for it really. John couldn’t know if those hidden cameras were high-def., but on the off chance they weren’t. Right. Time to put those grade school acting lessons to the test.

John took his fingers off and slumped his shoulders. “He’s dead.”

“Greg?” Sherlock whispered.

And, bloody Nora, John couldn’t tell whether the brilliant, young man truly believed the lie, or only acted that way for the cameras.

Either way, Moriarty loved it.

 ** _“You did it, Sherly! You chose.”_** The proud grin practically seeped through the speakers. **_“I didn’t know if you had it in you, but…didn’t I tell you, Bastion? He adapts. Just like I taught him.”_**

John’s breath hitched as his side flared up. The ringing came back, and he almost missed Moriarty’s next words.

**_“But that was over so quickly. I feel somehow cheated, Sherly.”_ **

Great.

Just brilliant.

The man wanted more angst.

**_“Let’s ramp things up a bit.”_ **

Of course he’d say that. Why not? Things had been a bit boring, as of late. Dogs secured behind the wall, Sherlock breaking, John hurt, and Greg unconscious. Why, all they were missing was some martinis. John grit his teeth until his jaw hurt. What he wouldn’t give to get his hands around Moriarty’s throat right about now.

That would ‘ramp things up a bit’.

Sadly though:

**_“What say you? Should I let the dogs back in?”_ **

Sherlock’s upper lip curled and he snarled at the right corner of the room. Had to be where the camera was hidden. Of course, Sherlock knew where the bloody things was. Probably always had. A snap brought John back and he watched in fascination as Sherlock launched another, broken cement piece at the corner.

A tiny shower of sparks spat out of the upper corner.

**_“Really, Sherly? We’re going to do this now?”_ **

Sherlock growled, a low, bestial thing that promised so much pain.

Moriarty sighed. **_“Fine. But only because I feel it’s in your best interests to learn something else today. How to lose. It’s key, Sherly.”_**

Oh, that was rich, coming from this man. John doubted he knew how to lose on his best days. He rolled his eyes.

**_“That wasn’t very mature, John. Please stop scandalizing Sherly. Some of your stupid might rub off on him.”_ **

_But how did he…? The camera’s gone! Sherlock destroyed it. So, how did he…?_

**_“Please, John, your actions are as predictable as America’s butchering of the English language. I know your every move, before you make it. Besides, sarcasm is your defense mechanism. Or did you forget, we’ve spent some lovely hours together?”_ **

As if he could forget. That time would be forever seared into John’s memories.

John shoved that fear away. Not relevant now. He couldn’t let Moriarty mess with his head, any more than he already had. This mad man _would not_ win! So what if he could predict certain moves? He wasn’t God, he didn’t know everything. He didn’t know Sherlock and John, thinking together. Moriarty relied only on himself to come up with things, and then sent people out to die.

That, John could use against him.

“Sherlock,” John said, signaling the winged man over.

Sherlock inched over, almost as if he expected John to lash out at him. John stifled a sigh and loosened his stance. He had to keep in mind that Sherlock didn’t deal well with anger, either directed at him or not – small wonder why.

“Sherlock, come here.”

**_“Oooo! I’d be careful, Sherly. He’s being nice. You know how well that always ends.”_ **

Sherlock froze and eyed John anew.

 _Safe._ John signed with his fingers. _You’re safe._

Sherlock cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes.

_ Greg, alive. _

Sherlock jerked back a step, sucking in a sharp breath. His eyes darted to Greg’s still form. John let him scan, let that big head of his do the math. It didn’t take long. A feral grin, much like a sharks, spread across the thin face. John mirrored it.

 _Yes, that’s right,_ he thought. _We’ve got the upper hand now._

 _Plan?_ Sherlock signed, long fingers dancing.

_ Yes. _

_ What? _

_ Mental breakdown. _

Sherlock wrinkled his nose, but a quick glance at Greg had him nodding in agreement. And this is where things got crazy…well, crazier. A fine line had to tread now. Make Moriarty believe Sherlock had snapped, while also getting them all out.

_Piece of cake._

**_“Sherrrrly!”_** Moriarty sang. **_“You’re being awfully quiet down there. Planning something with dear, old Johnny? You shouldn’t have….wait, what do you mean he’s here!”_**

John flinched at the raw anger in that tone.

**_“No, no, no! He wasn’t supposed to find out yet. This isn’t…no, wait…of course!”_ **

And then silence.

Which couldn’t be good for them.

Just what had happened?

“Sherlock?” John turned to the younger man. “Any idea what that might be about?”

“The Man.”

“Ohhhkay than, that explains everything. Thanks.”

Sherlock glared. _Not safe._

 _ Who? _ _ The Man or Moriarty?_

Sherlock’s feathers bristled.

Ah. He didn’t know. Not for sure. Which…actually, made things harder. John couldn’t plan on which party to go after now. This new one, or Moriarty.

Who was the bigger threat?

Maybe…

_ Bigger threat. _

Sherlock hunched down, black wings folding in closer around him, and closed his eyes. John bit back a groan. Not again. He might not come out of this for hours. They didn’t have hours! They might not have minutes.

_But he’s not coming out until he wants to, so let’s be useful, shall we, John?_

John scooted over to Lestrade’s side again. The small rise and fall of the older man’s chest confirmed him alive. A quick check of his pulse showed it steadier, but a bit jumpy. Not unusual for a concussion.

Be better if they could keep him awake.

No point in musing over that though. Move on, fix what you can, that’s what John’s TO had always said. Sound advice, that. John applied it now.

Right.

The list, as it was now.

Lestrade: Unconscious. Abrasion to the back of the head. Possible concussion then. Pulse steady now.

Sherlock: Thinking over their problem.

Moriarty: Off, presumably dealing with this ‘Man’.

John, himself: Several ribs broken, needing a wrap….like that would happen anytime soon.

So, in short, they were royally in trouble this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it's late. Life got busy as all get out. I'll try and be better in my December update. 
> 
> Ten points if you can guess who "The Man" is. :D


	12. The Plot Thickens

The helicopter’s wind tugged at John’s hair. Not in a bad way, mind you, more soothing than anything else. Like when his Mum used to comb her finger through the strands. The hot breeze pushed against his face and he smiled. This reminded him of when he and Harry used to sneak off to the beaches. They’d play for hours, skipping across the rough rocks, waves hitting…waves…wait…Helicopter?!!

_We’re not supposed to be on a helicopter!_

First urge: bolt up and take out whoever had them for good.

It had to be some cruel twist of Moriarty’s, planned when John – and maybe the others – had passed out.

 _Were_ the others here?

That cold thought made the first urge die. John had no idea where Moriarty had him, or if he was guarded right this second. For that matter, John had no idea if Lestrade or Sherlock were even here with him. They could be hundreds of miles away – some other maze or experiment place – or right here next to him, a gun to their heads. Tipping his hand would be the worst thing. Best if he played “dead” still. That in mind, John slowed his breathing more.

“A commendable ploy, Captain, but useless,” a male voice said from the other side of his eyelids.

The voice crackled as if from some radio. It was then that John noticed the pressure of a headset on his ears and head. Well that….was odd. What kind of guy made sure his prisoners had a radio headset? Was his monologue really that important?

 _Please, God, no. Not more long-winded boasting._ John’s stomach curled at the thought. Bad enough this guy probably had a torture fetish like Moriarty, did he also have to have to monologue one as well?

At least, it wasn’t Moriarty himself though. The accent was too posh, and lacked any of the Irish lilt to it. In fact, the man had to be from London. That stung a little, that Moriarty had given this task to someone from his – John’s – native land. And it did nothing to relieve him. He’d met some of Moriarty’s favorite henchmen. They could be just as cruel and creative in their “lessons”.

“I knew you awake the moment your mind came to,” the voice crackled in again, “so there’s no point in pretending you’re still unconscious.”

Well, that took care of that, didn’t it?

John opened his eyes to glare at the man. Squinting against the bright, desert sunlight, John made out a prim figure sitting on the other side of him. The guy had an instant ‘please, dislike me’ air about him. A snobbish, look-down-my-nose kinda vibe. Who wore a three piece suit in this heat?

And in black, no less.

If that didn’t take it all, the guy had some umbrella, which he leaned on like some sort of cane. The man sniffed as he scanned John up and down. John’s hackles rose. Instincts, his instructor called that, and John listened to them.

This man was dangerous.

Put aside all those quirky things – the cane, the suit – and John’s instincts creamed at him to get as far away as possible. Why? He didn’t know. Maybe it was the dark light that gleamed in the man’s eyes, as if some kind of monster lived hidden. One that ached to come out and play. One that the man didn’t want anyone to see until too late, unlike Moriarty who wore his monster for all to see.

_Figures Moriarty would find this guy._

John tested his hands. As he suspected, the man had them tied. With ropes and handcuffs? Well, that was a bit of an overkill. What did this man expect John to do? Go all Hulk on him? John hid a sigh of annoyance. This was off to a great start. Pulled from that deathtrap and being taken to God only knew where by a man in a pretentious suit.

Great.

Just great.

“Do stop glaring at me, Sherlock,” the man said, picking some sand off his suit sleeve. John snapped his gaze over. Tied securely to a seat, wings pinned in by multiple ropes and wires, sat Sherlock. Another headset sat over the winged man’s ears. A fire burned in those dark eyes. The ever present snarl still curled his dry lips.

Things just kept getting better, didn’t they? This man had even Sherlock nervous. John stifled another sigh. Would it really kill the universe to give them a break? The other shoe had already dropped ages ago. What next? The sky?

John scanned around and found Lestrade strapped down to another seat. The older man seemed unconscious. A small head wound had dripped blood down his left cheek. Nothing to write home about, but still worrisome. The man didn’t care to see to it, to make sure infection didn’t set in.

 ** _Focus on now_** , John’s lieutenant always said.

And now?

Now, Sherlock and Moriarty’s newest henchman continued to do the equivalent of an stare-off – if it could be called that, seeing as Sherlock was definitely the captive in this scenario. There had to be a bazillion things being shot with those looks. Funny, though, how different said looks were from each other. Sherlock’s held a wild fury not unlike an explosion. The man’s seemed more like a volcano; slow, but inevitable.

John knew which one of those two won out in nature.

He only hoped Sherlock proved it wrong with humans.

“Some measure of gratitude for your rescuer might be in order,” the man said at last.

 _Wait, what?_ John’s mind shorted out a second. Rescuer? As in…they were free of Moriarty? But how? When?

_And how did I sleep through it??_

Sherlock’s forehead wrinkled as he glared harder. Then the winged man sniffed and looked away. The dismissal and refusal couldn’t have been more obvious. Suit Man sighed again.

“Really, Sherlock, such childish behavior is demeans you.”  

“Shut up.”

John blinked. Shut up? That was the best Sherlock had? No struggles to get loose, no deductions, just…shut up? John felt a little letdown. As bad as their situation made out to be, John had been kind of hoping to see this henchman taken down a few notches.

“You’ve gained two stone,” Sherlock huffed, looking out the helicopter window.

“And you’ve lost five, when you could ill afford to lose them, and still kept that abysmal attitude.”

“Fruitcake,” Sherlock sneered, as he looked pointedly at a small bundle by the man’s leg.

Now that, that seemed more like it. John hid a smirk. Good to know his winged friend wasn’t off his game. They’d need him to escape. Which, of course, the man in the suit decided to squash.

“Rest, Sherlock. We’ll be at base soon, and then you can plan your escape with John.” The man looked down his nose at John. “Although, might I suggest you stay a few days before leaving, Captain? Sherlock – as much as he’ll deny it – is injured. He needs to recuperate. As does Lestrade.”

John made sure to not let any emotion pass. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

First he’d check out Sherlock’s _injuries_ , find out when and how he got them. If it turned out to be this man in the suit, John voted they leave anyway. No way, was he letting these guys get another shot at playing with them.

“Base in sight, sir,” a voice popped over the com.

John pushed himself up by his elbows and looked out, ready – he thought – for anything. Which, of course, was right when life, God, and the fates all decided to add another twist to their problem. A familiar set of buildings got closer and closer as they flew in. John squinted. He knew those sand covered structures. He did. But from where?

John’s eyes widened.

Camp Bastion!

They…they were home.

This man had taken them to a British Army base camp. But why?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made it! I actually posted this in December! Okay, granted, it's the last day of said month, but I count it. Sorry, I was so worried this would be posted sometime in January (my writer's block was that bad). Anyhow, I hope you liked it. Sherlock's escaped, Mycroft is FINALLY here, and they're back as base camp. Hmmm, I think we're due for some angst next time, don't you?
> 
> Any suggestions/prompts would be so greatly appreciated. I'm kinda drying up on this story. Please? *puppy eyes* Leave me a few prompts for what you'd like to see in the next few chapters. Please.


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